


Dreams, Civil Blood, and Queen Mab

by TriffidsandCuckoos



Series: Then I Defy You Stars [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Backstory, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant - Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-14 02:38:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18043868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriffidsandCuckoos/pseuds/TriffidsandCuckoos
Summary: Theseus grows up with Percival's name on his wrist and in his life. He just wants to find their third.





	Dreams, Civil Blood, and Queen Mab

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this way back in November, shortly after I posted 'A Rose' and people started telling me it was part of a series. Because of the timing, it got very bound up in both NaNoWriMo and CoG coming out, the latter meaning this turned into not just Theseus' side of the story but a chance to get my version of Theseus on the page, as it were. As a result, while I've listed this as part two, this is mostly a prequel which then overtakes at the end. Enjoy all the headcanon!

The night before he starts at Hogwarts, with all his things either packed or strewn around his room in semi-useful piles, Theseus sits on the roof of the stables with his brother one last time. It should feel like a grand beginning, but when he looks at Newt with a puffskein nestled in his hair, he just gets this odd sense of an ending.

“Who do you think they’ll be?”

Theseus frowns to himself. Of course he’s nervous about his twelfth birthday – or, more to the point, about finding the other half of himself. Despite growing up in a soulmated household – quite the indulgence for purebloods – the idea of one person completing him still tastes strange. Maybe he could make his peace with it, if Newt didn’t fuss over it too. It’s funny: he’s never heard his brother wonder about his own soulmate, only ever Theseus’. 

“Someone I’ve never met,” Theseus tells him, resisting the urge to rub at his wrist as if that would speed it along. 

Newt pouts, six years of pure disdain. “Not just that, These.”

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck and wondering (not for the first time) why Newt always has to poke at things like this. “Well,” he says slowly, knowing his brother won’t let go until he gets an honest answer, “someone amazing, obviously. Good in a fight. Funny.”

“I thought they had to be different.”

He snorts, pulling Newt into a one-armed hug. “Such a charmer.”

Newt wriggles, making himself comfortable against Theseus’ side. He blinks up at the sky, eyes so big and wide. “They’ll make you happy.”

“You already do that, idiot.”

\----------

Theseus' names burn their way into his wrist on his twelfth birthday, just like everyone else – except, of course, for the part where apparently he's not like everyone else at all.

He's never been entirely sure why it happens on your twelfth birthday, or why anybody decided it would be a fantastic idea to pack kids off to school the year it happens. It doesn’t make much sense when you stop and think about it, and not for the first time Theseus wonders how much easier things would be if Newt hadn’t already trained him not to just accept things. It doesn’t help that even at twelve, Theseus has an idea of 'normal', and an automatic gag reflex.

As much as Theseus delights in the sound of Hogwarts, hundreds of kids all packed in together so that something is always constantly happening and the only limits are how much you can be bothered to eavesdrop and gossip, he doesn't actually tell anyone it's his birthday beforehand. For almost the first time in his life, he wants something to be private. Theseus is not a private person, never has been, so he wonders if this means he is Becoming A Man (since it's not like he knows any interesting adults). That's the only possibly explanation for why, the night before, he tucks himself under the blankets in his dorm after a particularly intense Bertie Botts showdown and doesn't breathe a word.

Maybe he's even a little self-conscious (although he won't learn that concept for a few years yet). September birthdays are ridiculous: you don't know the rules, and all he can think is how much he wants to share this moment with his brother. But no, Newt is bloody hundreds of miles away (or whatever, Theseus isn't great on distances, or anything that doesn't interest him in the first thirty seconds really), so Theseus is doing this alone. Later, obviously, someone will notice the date and call him out of class, and he can only hope he manages anything like the majesty of Verity Thorne on the very first day of lessons, swanning through the Great Hall with her chin raised like royalty. Hard not to be jealous, really. 

There's no sensation to it, no real before or after. One moment he’s tucked under the covers with an erratic lumos and squinting at his skin, determined to catch the moment; the next, he’s blinking blearily and trying to work out why his mouth tastes of burnt chicken and turkish delight. 

Just in time, he stops himself sitting straight up, because that's sure to raise half the dorm. Waking up to shouting and chaos from humans makes a fairly brilliant change from the hippogriffs, but he wants to stretch out this moment for himself first.

He hugs his wrist close to his chest, eyes squeezed shut; no idea what to hope for, just hoping. Slowly he looks down at where his hand is wrapped around it. His stomach bounces, his face does _something_ but he can’t tell what because everything is focused on this, his destiny, right under his fingers. Whatever 'soulmate' actually means, this is them. Whatever he is, they’re the other half.

Carefully he holds his wrist just on the edge of too close, threatening to blur, and unpeels his fingers. His lips twitch with the effort as he tries not to let the giggle escape at the sight of it.

 _Percival Graves_

There it is. Male name, unquestionably, which does resolve something he's already been wondering about. Sounds good, even just shaping the words silently under the covers. Instantly he likes saying it; can't wait to do it to a face. _Mine_ , he thinks, because Theseus also likes knowing what's his. Newt is _his_ brother; this is _his_ soulmate. These things matter.

He's still enjoying dragging out the last syllable of _Percival_ 's name when he notices it, peeking out from under the cuff of his nightshirt. He pulled it down enough to see a name, that first inch or so, but he can see something else which wasn't there the night before. Curves and spikes in a row, almost like they're underlining _Percival_ , emphasising him. Curious, he tugs, curses, works the button loose, and then watches as the cuff falls away.

_Credence Barebone_

Now he does sit up, sharp enough that it’s a good thing his head’s already spinning, and squinting at the letters scrawled across his veins as if they've always been there – which possibly they always have been? He’s not sure, people get _weird_ about time so it's best to leave them to it and focus on the important things, like _how does he have two_? Is he supposed to choose? Merlin, he hopes not, he has enough trouble deciding on breakfast when everything's laid out in front of him. Is it one then the other? Sounds miserable, frankly. He stares down as, sure enough, the dorm rouses into chaos around him, and the names don't move.

They never move. But from the moment he puts on the cuff following registration – he thought about only saying one, he really did, what does that say about him, keeping _Credence_ away from the world – he starts wondering if it’s really worth all the fuss. The world is supposed to have moved, but he’s still here. 

They’re just names. 

\---------

Percival writes to him first – rigid and formal, **Dear Theseus Scamander** – and sometimes Theseus thinks that sets the tone of their entire relationship (no need for qualifications, 'soulmates' covers the whole multitude). It'll be years, _decades_ , and there'll always be that part of him that wonders whether Percival resents him for it: Theseus knew about Percival for almost half a year, and he didn't do anything. He can dress it up in all the excuses he likes, and Percival can scoff and call him “easily distracted” and say how clearly they're soulmates because Theseus needs someone else to keep his life in order, and it's always going to be hanging there between them. The part of Theseus who looked at the names of his soulmates and blinked.

It's a phase, allegedly. Everybody questions it sooner or later. Not all soulmates prefer romantic relationships; some are purely sexual, physical closeness because that's what they need. Rare and controversial, but they do happen. Theseus didn't really get 'touching soulmates' – the act, yes, but not all the weight behind it – until he's fifteen and kissing the Ravenclaw Beater behind the greenhouses and the truth of it is right there between them. Bastard meets his soulmate in person at a match over the summer, decides he wants to be exclusive, but that's fine. Theseus learns what he needs to and it's time to move on anyway.

Percival's that constant nagging voice in the letters, asking about his studies and his future when he just wants to relax and not think about anything. Theseus shoves him away just to see if he can, then gets angry when Percival starts talking about some Horned Serpent girl who marches right up to him in the library and announces he's going to be her Director of Magical Security when she's President. Meanwhile Theseus barely even knows where he's going to wake up tomorrow morning. He feels grubby, maybe a little unworthy, and finds the first willing pair of lips that'll take him.

‘Soulmate’ doesn't have to mean anything, right? Obviously the third member of their party thinks so, the way he's so silent. Percival said there was no sign of this Credence, although nothing's been mentioned either way of late. Maybe none of it matters. Maybe fate just thinks Theseus needs someone pestering him about his lessons. Joke's on fate, in that case: Theseus never goes. Better things to do.

Samael Avery is quick to talk and quick to smile, a starry glint to both. He's the one who first tells Theseus the truth about soulnames: that they're the name of your _soul_ , not whatever syllables your parents chose. For most people it's all the same, but for some, that name comes to them later. "So really," he says slowly, wrapping his fingers around Theseus' wrist, around the names he's never shown to anyone else but this feels so right and he's so in love and Percival's so far away and he doesn't care anyway and Theseus wants to be in love, " _really_ , anybody could be this 'Credence'."

He's never seen Samael's wrist. He doesn't care. He takes the drink with the strange smells and then he lies back.

Weeks later, after he's been dumped by the lake with, in Nurse Geel's words, "all that bloody muck in you," it's Percival – still there, despite all the unanswered letters – who tells him what Amortentia is. It's Percival who helps him pass his exams despite missing so much work. It's Percival he doesn't exactly pour his heart out to, but only because he isn't making that mistake again. 

Utter bastard. 

Loyal brilliant bastard.

So yes, he realises the next autumn he's grinning at every letter and blushing when people ask and he nips that in the bud as best he can, but everything's different now. He's on the other side of something. Some students call him the Whore of Hogwarts and others go down bleeding because he saw them bullying the first years and he doesn't know what's him anymore. He just knows that he can't look at his wrist because it makes him feel sick.

\----------

Newt starts Hogwarts, and he hates it – proper sobbing hatred, the kind Theseus hasn't seen in years, or maybe Newt just hasn't shown it to him. Theseus has always had that horrible sick feeling that Newt might have trouble but it's worse than he thought. One night he's told his brother is waiting outside the Common Room (Gryffindors only, just something else he hates these days) and he finds an eleven-year-old with some sort of oversized mole shoved under his nightshirt and tears in his eyes. "I don't think I like humans very much," Newt sniffs into Theseus' chest, and it makes his heart break so much more than what Avery did to him.

Newt's twelfth birthday comes and goes. Theseus finds him eventually somewhere along the shore of the lake, absolutely covered in mud. "I don't think you understand the concept of water, somehow."

Newt shakes his head like he wants to clear it. Somewhere out in the water, a few concerning air bubbles make Theseus back away. "They can't see it."

Theseus sighs, sitting down in the mud with him. He's not proud, and he is very good at cleaning charms. "It's just for the record, Newt. Nobody else has to know."

"I don't mean a name," Newt says, his voice twisting so oddly. "I don't want them to look."

"It's not that big a deal – "

In one of those flurries of movement which seem to define his brother's emotions, Newt thrusts his arm under Theseus' nose. When he looks, Newt has his gaze fixed on some point in the distance with the intense focus of a first year. Theseus sighs, leaning forward to dip his hand in the water and wash the mud away.

And he blinks.

He's not sure what he expected – maybe a whole cluster of names, all interwoven so close you couldn't make out anything. Now he's looking, he realises that there's something inevitable about this. The only person who could ever fit his brother.

There's nobody.

He rubs a thumb across the blank space – no, not blank, just a wrist, veins and pale freckled skin. Always his brother.

"I'm a freak."

"Never." Theseus doesn't even have to think about it. "You're a bit different, but then we already knew that."

Newt screws up his face. "These – "

"Who did you want to see?" Sure enough, there's no reply. Newt's mouth moves from side to side, like he wants to spit something out. "Did you actually want to see anyone?"

Newt sighs, and it's like everything goes out of him, head and hand lolling forward as if Theseus is the only thing keeping him up. "I just," he says quietly, "I just wanted to be _normal_ , These."

"I know." And he does, he _really_ does, the same way he knows that you can't force yourself into that box. Looking at his brilliant strange brother, he doesn't want to try. Funny how things seem so obvious when it comes to Newt – so much more than for himself.

He laughs softly and Newt looks up, frowning. "What's so funny?"

Theseus holds out his own wrist. Newt's seen it before, of course; Theseus would never keep anything like that from him. Newt might not be all that interested in Theseus' secrets, but that doesn't stop Theseus from wanting to tell his brother everything. Now Newt squints at it as if there might be something he missed before, the same line between his eyebrows he gets when he thinks there's a trick question in the offing.

Theseus smiles at him and says, "I guess I got yours too."

Newt hesitates, face shifting oddly. He doesn't seem angry. "I don't think that's how it works, These."

"Are you questioning your big brother?" Theseus asks, just shy of sticking his tongue out. Newt's always been cleverer than him, so this is always the joke: that Theseus could somehow know more. "I just didn't want it to bother you, that's all."

Newt still looks decidedly sceptical with that dead-eyed stare any child would be proud of. Theseus just counts himself lucky it's not levelled directly at his face. Still, when he does speak, it's not the question Theseus expects. "You'll find both of them, then?"

Theseus' breath catches. He glances down, and there it is, where he's rolled his sleeves up, spattered with mud but never gone: _Credence Barebone_. The third part. Someone who completes whatever Percival can't.

"Obviously," he says, and the truth of it settles in his chest.

\----------

It's hard to say exactly what makes him decide to be an auror at the end of sixth year. Maybe he wants people to take him seriously, or maybe he doesn’t have any other ideas so he just steals Percival's. It definitely makes a lot of sense in his head, even when you ignore Percival's twaddle about honour and legacy. From what he can tell, at its heart it's all about protecting people. He can do that. He can't do much, but he can do that.

There's some scepticism about it from his professors, or at least the ones who clearly think of him as the school slut (Theseus has been in enough trouble to have no illusions as to how adults see him). Only two really stick up for him: his duelling instructor, who's never had a bad word to say about him, and his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, who's got a fairly annoyingly cryptic way of talking but seemed the only sympathetic ear around after Avery left him to die. (Theseus broke Avery's nose when he found him moving on to the next target, threatened to break more, and he didn't exactly cry on hearing the twat had transferred to Durmstrang.)

 **There's more to it than punching people in the face,** Percival tells him, superior and forty years old at least. Theseus pictures him stroking a long white beard under his reading glasses as he sips hot cocoa. Theseus pictures Percival in a lot of ways, and they never quite seem right.

**Do you get to curse them too?**

Percival has made it perfectly clear that being an auror isn't just 'wild adventures and penny dreadfuls', because he's a bastard who hates fun and loves taunting, so Theseus manages better than some of the other recruits. The dropout rate in their qualifying year is honestly impressive, and that's from someone who didn't bother to show up for at least half of their fifth year.

 **Some people don't have any staying power,** Percival comments, and Theseus doesn't know if the bastard intended the sudden hiss in his blood, the way something in Theseus' brain digs its heels in and swears he'll be an auror if it's the last thing he does.

Of course he never asks. Instead, he says, **Makes it easier for me to stand out,** which is only the truth, really.

**You've never had any trouble with that.**

Theseus isn't nearly as quick to respond to that one.

Obviously his first instinct is to assume this is another one of Percival's jabs: those sentences where nothing is technically an insult, so it's so hard to argue intellectually about the intention, despite the curdling in your gut. The bastard has an uncanny knack for the exact turns of phrase which linger in Theseus' mind for far too long – like the 'staying power' comment. Presumably it's like that for everyone, and Theseus feels for anyone who has to deal with him in person. It must be exhausting, keeping up with someone who thinks that fast. (That's assuming Percival does the same as him, dashing off letters without much thought because if he tries to plan them out he'll never get them done, constantly wondering if something could be phrased better and not at all like you're communicating with a real person.)

It's true, Theseus does not blend in easily, somehow even more so now than at school. Most of the recruits already know him by reputation, and while that usually includes the duelling, it also features the sex much more prominently. What part of it bothers them, he couldn't really say. Given some definitely do their own sleeping around, it can't just be the concept of being with someone other than your soulmate. Theseus knows for a fact that he's far from the only person to object to that. Maybe it's because he's so open about it? Hardly matters, really: in his experience, once someone's comfortable calling you a whore, there's nothing you can do to talk them out of it.

When people ask, he only says the one name, and only if he has to. It’s not shame, not exactly, but it’s something curling in his stomach. He doesn’t know a thing about Credence, still. Maybe Credence would want this. But what with everything people say, the shit they spew, he finds he wants to keep Credence clear. Keep him safe. And once he starts, it’s hard to stop, because Credence is just for him and Percival, like a kiss in the night.

Theseus passes in every sense, both the spell assessments and the exams (the exams Percival took the moment he graduated, special dispensation and he's already out in the field), and quickly discovers that nobody expects him to do anything spectacular. He's assigned to watch for wizards playing pranks on local farmers by charming their sheep; dungbombs in Bath (as if anyone could smell the difference); an unexplained cult near Whitby which turns out to be some very confused muggles brandishing literature Theseus confiscates just to have something to do next time he's stranded in the countryside for hours on end. It's bloody tedious, and it doesn't help when Percival is clearly having the time of his life.

**How many gangs do you even have in New York?**

**Too many,** Percival tells him, and while he doubts it's meant as a brag, Theseus can't help feeling jealous. He doesn't want the country descending into anarchy or anything, but he can't help feeling that then he'd have something to do.

Percival tells him not to do anything stupid. Theseus does not appreciate getting this letter only after he's already complained extensively to the Head Auror on returning from three days in Dartmoor and ended up assigned to Azkaban duty.

Nobody is supposed to work Azkaban transfers for more than six months. Theseus does three years until he hears about Newt.

\----------

He doesn't ask Newt to go over what happened. If Theseus’ experience is anything to go by, Newt's already had to tell this story more times than he can count. Instead he curls up behind him on the sofa, resting his head on Newt's shoulder now that his baby brother is somehow taller than him. That thought alone drives the ache even deeper into his chest. All he's ever known for certain, even more a part of him than his soulnames, is that he wants to keep Newt safe. Now the world's got at him, and for what? For Newt being Newt? For someone else taking advantage of that?

"She didn't have a name either."

Theseus lets his eyes fall close, unable to stop the sigh. His arms tighten without him meaning them to, but Newt doesn't start squirming so he doesn't let go. "That doesn't make you a match, Newt."

Newt bristles a little, making Niff jump down from his lap and away into the house. "I didn't think it did."

Theseus just hums into his shoulder. He can feel the stutter in Newt's words just fine; no need for him to push the point.

Theseus had rolled up his shirtsleeves when he came in, wanting to enjoy the warmth and touch of the house they grew up in. Now he can feel Newt twisting his left wrist, brushing a thumb under first one name then the other. It's painful, the reminder of his brother when the names had first appeared, examining them so closely as if he could see how they'd burned their way in. Completely unable to leave it alone.

Quietly, Theseus says, "Sometimes I think I'd be fine with just Perce." He's not sure when he started shortening Percival's name like that, but it tastes right on his tongue. Less intimidating, more like someone he could see himself laughing with. He wishes he could picture what that laugh would sound like. "But that never lasts long."

"What do you think the other one's like?" Theseus should probably feel angrier at the phrasing, except he can hear how bloody lost Newt sounds. No matter how many times Theseus tells him that it's fine; that it's not a big thing; that he knows Newt will be happy and so much more so without constantly worrying about something he doesn't care for: no matter what, he can't fix what Newt thinks he's missing. Neither can anyone else, but, as Theseus knows all too well, that doesn't stop them trying. He failed Newt there, he knows that now: he thought Newt would be safe from all this. Never thought how being alone would amount to the same thing.

"Alone."

Newt goes still, enough to make Theseus panic until he registers his heartbeat. "Why? He has you two."

The last thing Theseus wants to do is announce where his thoughts had been sliding. Besides, put on the spot, he finds he didn't lie. "He has two names. That's it. He doesn't _have_ us. He would," the only thing Theseus can be certain of, "but we can't find him. We're not going to unless he wants us to. He – " He cuts himself off, pressing his forehead harder against Newt's shoulder and suddenly aware of the hollow inside him. "Either he doesn't want us or we let him down."

"How?"

Theseus sighs. Sometimes he really loves his brother: analytical, yes, but never caught up in things that will trip Theseus up. Just the questions which matter. Percival does that too, but there's always an agenda there: a response he wants, or a reason why you won't react the way he expects. Newt's just curious.

"I don't know. I don't have any proof, Newt, it's just – " He swallows. "If he can't get to us but he wants to, there's a reason. Something we haven't figured out."

Newt hums to himself. "Do you talk about it?"

Hardly. They used to, back when the letters first starting coming and Theseus' absence never got talked about in favour of the absent voice, all the questions about Credence with that underlying sense of 'is he the same as you'. Honestly, Theseus is the one who shouldn't have any soulmates, let alone two. Not that it's a punishment, he does honestly mean it when he tells Newt that, but just that he doesn't feel qualified for this. If anyone could live only ever having passing connections, it's him. What did Percival call him once? 'Flighty'? It sounds about right.

"It's like talking about your hands," Theseus says uselessly, because despite a thousand poems and novels and ballads and drunken serenades, nobody's ever put it into words. It's different for everyone, and it's the same. And anyway, Theseus has never actually met his soulmates. He barely has any more experience than Newt. "Or your hair, or – It doesn't come up until suddenly it does. It's too obvious to write about all the time."

It's a hopeless explanation. Theseus doesn't have to look to know Newt is pouting in the exact sort of frustrated disappointment he's had since he couldn't work out why walking wouldn't work. To be fair, it's less obviously a pout these days, but his bottom lip still pushes out and his brow lowers and it's the closest Newt ever comes to looking _grumpy _.__

__"Everything's 'obvious'," Newt mutters. "If it's so obvious, I wouldn't have to ask."_ _

__He's not talking about soulmates, not exactly, but Theseus lets it go. He loves his brother so much it hurts, but he's never really managed to put things like this into words so the world makes sense for him. Maybe Percival could; that clever quick brain must be good for something other than acting superior and sending Theseus' thoughts into a nosedive._ _

__The silence stretches out between them as Theseus' thoughts spiral between Credence – alone, abandoned – and Percival – so far away in both distance and intellect – down and down. His eyes close as he follows them into darkness._ _

__"She understood." So quiet, a rumble Theseus feels more than hears. "Not all of it, but – She knew what it was like."_ _

__\----------_ _

__A couple of days later –all he could manage – Theseus goes back to work. The spiral comes back, stronger, pulling him deeper; the spell won't work, the memory won't form; he barely escapes the dementors in time._ _

__Percival is apoplectic (good word, Theseus learnt it from him, likes the way it sounds like him). Reading the words, actually scratched across the page as if Percival's eternal control has slipped just a little, Theseus reflects that Percival never seems to be in hospital himself. Also, that he really shouldn't take this as encouragement, except it really does warm up his insides even more than the chocolate to read about what Percival would do if he was Director already, the wrath he'd visit from across the ocean. It's extraordinary, the idea that they've never met. Obviously Theseus would threaten to fly the pond and curse anyone who'd hurt him, but that's _Theseus_. He isn't the logical one here._ _

__Holding the parchment, his eyes catch on Credence's name._ _

__"He'd do the same for you," he says, hopefully quiet enough that the healer doesn't hear. There's no way Credence could hear him – Merlin, Theseus wishes it worked like that – but it's all he can do. He hates feeling so helpless, biting into bars of chocolate to try to fight it. That's what Theseus does, he can see it now: he fights. When he can't do anything, the monsters get him._ _

__Back to sheep curses and fish charms, more dire than ever, and it's dawning on Theseus that this is it. Blame his school career or the fact he doesn't know the right people, but he's stuck in the doldrums (Percival's word again, good sound in his head) and there's no way out, and nothing else he can do. Percival keeps heading up the ladder, and Theseus feels less worthy of him by the day. There's nothing he has to offer._ _

__\----------_ _

__Something's happening on the Continent. He's been vaguely aware of it for years, from his father muttering at the dinner table or in conciliatory letters, but it's been too full of names he doesn't recognise and politics which changes by the day, and it's always been his policy to just let Dad talk when he gets into a run like this, the same as when Mum and Newt start discussing creatures. Now, though, reading the _Prophet_ as he waits for a sheep to start flying, he starts frowning as he recognises a country here, a group there. Worse, there are reports elsewhere about wizard movements and groups coalescing along national lines and while he doesn't know what's happening, it's hard not to feel uneasy. Something's nagging at him._ _

__**It feels like something big is coming.** He feels silly saying it to anyone else – maybe his father, but Dad's been out of the country for weeks._ _

__To his surprise, while Percival's a little sceptical, he doesn't call him an idiot. Instead he gets, **Don't get involved.**_ _

__Don't get involved in what?_ _

__\-----------_ _

__Assassination. Treaties. War._ _

__It's not that they think it'll be a game. When he gets drinks with Lewton and Trelawney, say, they talk about seeing muggles crowding the sign-ups chanting football songs and they're not focusing on how much fun it looks. They don't get that luxury, what with the edict about non-involvement. An edict which rings uncomfortably familiar._ _

__"I'm not saying hang it all, the secrecy and the whole boodle," Trelawney hisses around his cigarette, "I'm saying that it's going to get bloody difficult to sit on our hands all day when the Froggies start coming to call."_ _

__On the whole, Theseus does not get along with Trelawney, and this is no exception. It's just that he seems to be one of the only people willing to talk about it at all, besides congratulating himself on being born in merry Britain where that pesky war won't bother us – doubly so, what with the edict and the Channel keeping it all at bay. It makes Theseus sick to his stomach._ _

__Some of the others are mercifully less unpleasant. When Theseus reads about the first casualties and wonders how many more there are going to be – he's too young to have been in Africa but he's heard stories from the older Aurors, the ones calling the Minister a bloody coward – sometimes he hears people agreeing with him. When even the _Prophet_ mentions something about the muggle world, you know something big is happening._ _

__Letters arrive from Percival. He ignores them._ _

__He doesn't know who comes up with the idea first. It's more like they all had it at the same time: 'what if'._ _

__What if there's an alternative to hiding away from it all? What if they didn't just look the other way?_ _

__Something's building inside Theseus, the same boiling which got him into all those fights, the same kind of sense of the world lit as bright as lightning. Looking at his wrist banks the flame a little, but less so every time. He shouldn't, he has not one but two lives at stake, he –_ _

___What if Credence is in Europe?_ _ _

__\------------_ _

__He goes home for the weekend. Newt isn't there, which is probably for the best. Never mind the names without faces; if he had to look Newt in the eye, he's not sure he could go through with this. They see each other sometimes, when their jobs cross over and Theseus goes out of his way just to have a cup of tea and see that his brother is all right. He knows Newt isn't even careful when it comes to his neutrality: he doesn't see the point of it all. Nothing hurts quite like biting back the reaction Theseus would have to anybody else. He _knows_ Newt, would roll over on anything to make him happy, except right now his mind is filled with _this isn't right_ and _I have to do something_. He tries to reassure himself that at least Newt will stay away._ _

__Only their mum and the hippogriffs at home, but that's all right. He just needs to be here, just for one night. He needs to look in at Newt's room – the nest, or den, or whatever else you want to call it. Smiles when he sees sketches of bowtruckles and jamjars of fluids scattered around in the oddest places. Then his own room, and he writes the letters which have been forming and reforming inside him for days now. Three letters: one to send care of the Ministry, one to leave here, and one to travel overseas._ _

__There are boxes in his room, piled next to his desk. He could use expansion charms, even though he's not the best at them, only he doesn't like the idea of combing through them. He likes the way they fill the space. He likes knowing people write to him that often; that they care._ _

__He doesn’t sleep a wink that night. Instead, he starts at the beginning._ _

__**Dear Theseus Scamander...** _ _

__\----------_ _

__It's a cold bright dawn. He watches the sky turn pink and blue as he drinks his tea and eats his eggs, before he picks up his bag and apparates into the nearby village. Already a few men are standing around, but not many; most already did the deed. That means Theseus doesn't have to wait long; doesn’t have to wonder if they'll be caught. None of them are doing it in London, they agreed. Don't make it too easy for the Ministry. He's heard of a few muggleborns who tried right at the start; he doesn't like that it was aurors who were sent to pick them up and take them away. Breach of the statute it may be, but once again there's that lightning flash of _it's not right_._ _

__They take his name and a version of his London address; when they question the latter, he says he wanted to be assigned where he came from, and he can tell they like that. Instinctively he opens his mouth to give just the one soulname, private and possessive of Credence as ever. However, then it occurs to him that it's always possible that Credence might sign up, or might have already, and it's not as if anything else has worked. The man in the crisp uniform raises his eyebrows remarkably high when Theseus gives two names, but Theseus doesn't make it sound strange and the officer looks away first from his bland stare. Let them fuss if they want to._ _

__Percival's letter comes first, the owl almost hitting him in the face with it as he stands on the deck of the ship with the uniform chafing at his neck. It's full of more swear words than Theseus has ever seen collected in one place in his life. Theseus wants to laugh, and he isn't sure why it strangles in his throat. It's that flicker against his mind he doesn't want to hear, that he has to push away or he won't be able to do this. They all signed up at once, all fifty of them, daring the Ministry to pull out that many and daring the Minister to tell them they can't (they spent the nineteenth century getting involved, what makes this one so special); so busy daring it's only now, seeing the consequences between the lines, that he can't hold it back anymore._ _

__Yes, what if Credence is over here?_ _

__But._ _

__What if he never meets Percival after all?_ _

__\-----------_ _

__There's no real agreement as to the level of magic they're allowed to use as part of this. A couple of muggleborns said it would be just like growing up, no magic whatsoever. Theseus wonders how well they're holding up as he casts small charms in the dead of night so his standard issue boots stop trying to scrape his feet to pieces, because statute or not, he is not pissing in his boots if he can help it. The same goes for the rest of his equipment, sharpening the razor into something that's good for anything other than a makeshift fork and shaping the clothing so he looks less like a scarecrow. If anyone comments, he flashes a smile and before he's even at the trenches he's got a reputation for being a lucky son of a bitch. He can handle that._ _

__What he's less certain he can handle are the trenches. He didn't let himself get caught up in the excitement of the other privates and NCOs – breaking your own laws has a way of doing that – but he's still as stunned as the rest at seeing their new homes. He looks from side to side, his view of the full length cut off by the sharp corners, and can't help thinking that muggles did all this by _hand_. Those rats are getting that big without magic; the lice, the trenchfoot, all of it with whatever muggle means they can manage. Muttering soft charms in his dugout, for the first time Theseus feels guilty. And angry. If he could just dare himself enough, he could fix so much for these men. Bad enough they're being shot at; they shouldn't have to deal with the rest of it to boot._ _

__He's never held a rifle before; never even seen one. It's far weightier than the wand hidden from sight, and the first time he fires it he thinks he's gone deaf. They say he's got a good eye at training, not that he really knows what that means. The bayonets make the weight worse, pulling him forward towards a target, and as the sandbags split he just can’t believe they'd do this to a person._ _

__Then there's the shelling. The snipers. The mines. And yes, this is it._ _

__**I don't know whether they'd tell me,** Percival writes, and it's the most honest Theseus thinks he's ever seen. **We're nothing official, after all.**_ _

__**Newt will,** Theseus replies weakly, because he has no idea what else to say to that. In just a few weeks, death is growing familiar. There's a rising smell from No Man's Land which permeates everything around here. There are privates who came on the same boat as him, younger than him, who are already dead. It's just a different kind of life altogether: long stretches of nothing, nothing except men killing time with games and jokes until the explosions start. Nobody has a clue what's going on in the war, and nobody seems to care. It's strange, how infectious that is, settling into one day at a time and almost forgetting he's here because he wanted to make a difference. Extra lines get slapped on his sleeves and everyone treats him the same. He's talking to a man who gets shot between one word and the next, just because a sniper could do it, and his fingers twitch for his wand but that's all._ _

__\----------_ _

__Percival goes silent on him. Theseus notices because any letters are gold dust sent from some strange faraway land. Presumably he's in a huff – at least, that's why Theseus stops writing sometimes. Maybe he just has more interesting things going on in his life than some lunatic running off to join the army. The more Theseus thinks about it, the stranger it gets, and yet he doesn't regret it somehow. He hates the idea of being back in London with no idea that this was happening._ _

__You can't get the _Prophet_ in the trenches. The fifty of them swore to write to each other, but that number’s dropping by the day. Percival's been the only one willing to tell him what's going on outside, the way the Minister had raved about them signing up. Newt doesn't want to talk about it; their father politely informed him of his displeasure at Theseus' decision, getting involved in a war he sees no point in._ _

__The soldier in the dug out next to his – Samson – asks what's got him so low._ _

__"Someone I miss," he says, scratching at his chin and pondering the likelihood of getting away without shaving, "not that we've ever met."_ _

__To his surprise, Samson nods knowingly, then taps his own wrist. "I have," he says. "Trust me, it could be worse."_ _

__It's true, most of the men talk about soulmates sooner or later. It's not that surprising, with death constantly at the back of everyone's mind. Nobody shows them off (it's hard to get the cuffs far back enough, anyway) and nobody shares names, but Theseus still keeps his ear out for anyone else with multiples. A couple of men do turn out to pair up – two met in training, another two in the battalion, one has an officer and the other chaps sing "la-di-dah" as he blushes – and Theseus has the same mixed feelings about that as most of the regiment. After all, if this is where you're supposed to meet, that doesn't bode well for how much life you have left._ _

__\----------_ _

__He's peering through one of the periscopes, convinced he saw someone running in No Man's Land, when the messenger finds him. Apparently, someone wants to see him way back in the nearby camp, where the officers have set up shop. His lip curls at the thought and the messenger shrugs sympathetically before heading off again. Like any other recruit, he can't stand the thought of the puffed shirts keeping themselves safe while everyone else dies. It doesn't help that they're apparently all the well-bred types, so reminiscent of the self-serving purebloods he's grown up with. That type always rubbed him up the wrong way._ _

__Presumably he's expected to show up clean and neat as a new pin, same as for the inspections. He considers this, then reaches out to drag his fingers along the trench wall. Mud brushes absent-mindedly through his hair; across his cheek; the edge of his cuffs. There's some blood on his shoulder and he just barely resists the urge to make it brighter, fresher. They might write him up but at least they'll have to remember where he's been._ _

__He's directed towards a tent off to the side of the camp, which surprises him just a little. There's no shortage of raised eyebrows and reprimands concerning his appearance, which keeps him happy. By the time he gets there, he has to fight to keep the smile off of his face._ _

__A smile which promptly drops the moment he salutes and is ushered inside. There are three men sat at the table: the first the sort of well-moustachioed fellow Theseus can just tell went to Eton (whatever that is) and smokes cigars and talks about the regiment as if he does all the fighting; another straight-backed, about Theseus' age, with the sort of crisp uniform and alert eyes which suggest he hasn't been out here long; and finally someone he definitely recognises already, enough to make him grind to a halt._ _

__"Afternoon, corporal," Auror Swanson calls out to him, as if Theseus isn't staring at him. What the bloody shit is another auror doing out here? Is this the extraction they thought might happen, when they first planned all this? Is it an execution? But that hardly explains the audience, or the way Swanson is sprawled in his seat as if rickety wood were the finest cushion._ _

__"Sir," Theseus says slowly, drawing it out as he salutes again, casting his eyes over the other two. Surely they'd have heard at the front if the wizards are getting involved now?_ _

__The officer – a colonel, his mind finally recognises – gestures magnanimously to the only available chair. "At ease, corporal."_ _

__Chancing another look at the third man, Theseus finds himself being regarded rather coolly by dark eyes, one eyebrow raised rather imperiously in clear judgement. Whoever this is, he clearly doesn't like waiting. For all that he's the lowest ranked man in the room, he doesn't seem like someone unused to respect – or, possibly, to getting what he wants. A shiver of annoyance runs through Theseus as he sits down, slumping a little if only in defiance of the private's impeccable posture. Those eyes don't leave him, and absently Theseus reflects that this man is probably his type, which is interesting more for confirming that Theseus is still capable of having a type amidst all this. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, and Theseus forces his eyes away._ _

__The colonel starts talking and Theseus tries to focus as that gaze finally leaves him. Unfortunately, he's only hearing a lot of hot air, about unusual circumstances and making do and goodwill and rule Britannia and whatever else wanders through, and that just reminds Theseus that this man gets to sit back here and think about patriotism while Theseus and the rest spent last night ratcatching. His leg's starting to jiggle as the anger builds, and he sees the way the private looks at it with such disdain. He has no idea what Swanson is thinking, only that the auror usually smiles much more than this._ _

__"If I may," Swanson interrupts as the colonel draws breath, "I was told I could debrief the men in private as to the exact nature of the mission, and time is pressing on, as they say."_ _

__"Ah, quite right, quite right..." Theseus is fairly certain the colonel is still repeating it as he leaves._ _

__"Thank Merlin for that," Swanson mutters. Theseus is already nodding when he realises, and his head snaps to look at the private. To his annoyance, the man – the _wizard_ – just raises his eyebrows, as if daring him to say a word. Theseus scowls, slumping down further, crossing his legs and tapping his foot in the air as he imagines kicking that chair out from under him. He could definitely do without that smirk too._ _

__That said, he does notice that even though the man is sat bolt upright, he's definitely shorter than Theseus. That helps._ _

__"Right, now that we're alone," Swanson announces, producing his wand from his sleeve and tapping the map in front of them, "I'm afraid this is a matter of some urgency." The map shivers silver, new lines spreading across it, small dots of blue and red appearing along the trenches of both sides. "With the growing number of wizards joining up, we've been waiting for some sort of magical hostilities for a while now, beyond just the hexes and curses. Unfortunately, they've gone rather further than expected." He taps a dark blot in the middle of No Man's Land, perhaps twenty miles from Theseus' segment if he's reading the scale right (maps not being his strong point at all). "Now we don't know who, and right now we don't really care about any sides besides who'll help, but someone's got hold of a dementor and dumped it right in the middle."_ _

__Theseus never quite understood the phrase 'blood runs cold' until this point. For him, blood was something hot, something angry. He'd been scared before, terrified even, and never felt cold. Now though, the horror sinks into him, weighing him down and chilling him through his heart and down the length of his spine. He remembered that darkness closing in around him; the hopelessness of it. He thinks about the men in the trenches._ _

__"What do you want us to do?" he asks, his voice steadier than he'd expected._ _

__"You've got experience with these things," Swanson tells him, "same as some of the others. We're pulling in any wizard or witch who can conjure even a half-decent patronus."_ _

__Theseus looks at him. "So, an army of silver animals." He pauses. "In _No Man's Land_."_ _

__"You'll have teams for defence and deflection, naturally." As if that would be enough. Theseus is hardly a strategy savant, but he can only imagine the look on Percival's face if he heard anything about this (in as far as he can imagine Percival's face at all obviously). The private is certainly doing a good job though, seemingly calm but Theseus can see the tension building up, the way his left eye is starting to twitch a little. "That's why we had to involve the muggles, you see: they don't know what's up, but we're dragging in enough recruits that they'd only ask questions. They think it's all some secret offensive, very hush hush." Swanson taps the side of his nose like he's Father Christmas. "Not even a lie, what."_ _

__The private frowns, suddenly looking rather confused. "What?"_ _

__Theseus blinks a little. Only one word, but the accent definitely isn't from anywhere even remotely around here. It's sharper, higher, faster, as if it has somewhere else it has to be. Now he's looking again at the clothes, the face, because it sounds impossible and against everything Percival has ever said to him about keeping themselves to themselves (so long as it suits them) but he thinks the private might just be –_ _

__"I didn't know the Americans were involved."_ _

__"They're not," Swanson says, then narrows his eyes. He sits forward, leaning across the table with his hands together, and announces, "I thought you two knew each other."_ _

__Theseus' chair tips forward with a thud. Next to him, the private has somehow managed to grow even more still. When he glances to the side, he looks just as confused as him, which is rather satisfying on such a superior face and also reassures him that he didn’t get confundoed on the way in._ _

__"Ah, well, introductions it is," Swanson says, as the two of them stare at each other as if features might suddenly resolve into an old schoolfriend or drinking partner. Granted, Theseus has known quite a few people (often while either drunk or in some very atmospherically lit places), but he hates to think he'd have forgotten those cheekbones, let alone those _eyes_. Besides, even if he has forgotten, he'd still be offended if someone he'd met looked at him with that sort of blankness._ _

__The private holds out a hand, eyes pinched as if there's just one detail he can't quite make out but it'll solve the whole matter. Theseus reaches out to take it, his palm tingling oddly as their skin meets._ _

__"Corporal Scamander, this Private Graves."_ _

__Theseus' hand stays where it is. He couldn't let go if he wanted to._ _

__He's felt dumbfounded before, but that pales in comparison to Graves' face. Part of him thinks hysterically that maybe there are other Graveses in the world, other men from America with the same name and –_ _

__But they wouldn't be looking at him like that. Like he's something rare, like a missing piece. Those eyes are looking all over him and Theseus swears he can feel them as they pass. He doesn't blame him, he can't stop staring either, taking in every inch of that face as if it might be hidden away at any moment. All the pieces of Percival he's pictured over the years, he tries to fit in, and finds none of them quite match up. Maybe the superior arch of the eyebrow isn't a surprise, but that smirk never came up, certainly never as devastating, and he'd never thought much about Percival's hands at all and at that moment Theseus realises they still haven’t let go._ _

__"It's good to finally meet you," Percival says, almost blandly pleasant, except Theseus can hear the stately procession of the words and see them on paper and he doesn't think Percival is as calm as he sounds. How could he be, when Theseus feels like the whole world's tipped sideways._ _

__Suddenly Theseus is intensely aware of how he looks: sweaty, streaked with mud, still a little red-faced from his anger at the corporal, with hair still shorn into the standard haircut and in a uniform which is hardly flattering at the best of times._ _

__His mouth is moving. That's good, he should say something. The first thing he's ever said in person to his soulmate._ _

__"I thought you'd be taller."_ _

__Silence._ _

__Theseus swallows and snatches his hand back, turning to Swanson with what he hopes is not a painfully obvious air of panic. Percival's staring, and he doesn't blame him._ _

__They go over the plan, convening the night after this. Theseus takes most of it in as best he can with his mind whirling and his face heating, and when they're dismissed his body picks him up and marches him out into the cool air. The sun's almost set, streaking the sky with dark violet and indigo. Theseus feels like he's stepped out into another world – or the same world, just a different him._ _

__"You're not that much taller."_ _

__His head jerks around in surprise. Percival is standing there – _Percival_ – glowering at him. Without Swanson watching him, the glare is much more impressive._ _

__Theseus feels himself smile. "Still taller, though."_ _

__"Half an inch."_ _

__Holding up his fingers, Theseus indicates that distance, then widens it. "Besides," he adds, "half an inch can make a lot of difference."_ _

__Percival doesn’t move for a moment. Then, slowly, his hand comes up and he pinches the top of his nose as if he has a serious headache coming on. In a flash, Theseus can feel the familiarity of that gesture. It's so strange, when he's never seen it before, but he just knows Percival has done it over every letter, quietly despairing of whatever Theseus has said this time._ _

__This is Percival._ _

___His_ Percival._ _

__\-----------_ _

__"Can I see?"_ _

__Percival chews slowly, as if this isn't the same bog-standard stew they serve every night. Theseus watches him by the firelight, endlessly fascinated by the movement of the light and shadow chasing each other across his face. Percival doesn't fill the air with words, preferring to listen, which suits Theseus since staying silent has never been his preference. Besides, he's finding that he already loves watching the subtle ways Percival's face changes with his mood. One of the privates next to him in line for their slop called him 'serious'; he was right, but Theseus thinks there's more to it. After all, they've known each other long enough._ _

__Slowly, methodically, Percival places the metal 'bowl' on the floor and then reaches those long fingers up to start unbuttoning. Theseus' mouth goes a little dry as he watches. Then the jacket is carefully folded over thighs and Percival draws back his cuff, holding the bared skin out to him._ _

__The _Credence Barebone_ is the same, and Theseus smiles to see him. Their third._ _

__Seeing his own name though, scrawled across Percival's wrist and utterly unmistakeable...that touches something deeper altogether._ _

__Percival coughs and Theseus realises how tightly he's holding onto his arm. He can't help it though, his eyes devouring the sight. How else is he supposed to react to this? All that worrying, constantly thinking he couldn't possibly deserve this. Just for a moment, he wants to look at the proof: his name, Percival's skin._ _

__"I'll need that."_ _

__"Eventually," Theseus hums. Even when he manages to look away, his eyes get drawn down to the second name. Both of them, together. He runs a thumb along it, hoping that tremble is a shiver. He can already tell he'll enjoy breaking that composure as much in person as in writing._ _

__"One of these days," he murmurs, then catches himself. No. Focus._ _

__Percival's fingers catch his wrist then. Theseus already took off his jacket, enjoying not having the damp mud sapping out all his heat, and now Percival reaches out to turn his left hand over, peeling back the shirt to reveal his name and Credence's. He exhales sharply._ _

__There they are, next to each other. Percival, Theseus, and Credence twice over._ _

__"He's somewhere," Theseus says._ _

__Percival doesn't look up. "You're here."_ _

__\------------_ _

__Theseus can still feel those fingers against his skin the next day. Percival keeps his distance, further than before, strangely putting Theseus in mind of one of Newt's creatures. What was it he'd said about the diricrawls? When they were hungry they'd come right up to your hand, but then vanish once the need had passed._ _

__He's not calling Percival a diricrawl. He just wishes he'd touch him again._ _

__More wizards are arriving on their side of that line seared through the ground; on the other side, they're told, the same thing is happening. They'll meet once night falls, but for now, there's just comparing notes on what the battles have made of them. Theseus is happy to recognise a few faces – fewer than he'd like – and he listens with some surprise to talk of how the word is spreading amongst their kind._ _

__"Some people call you heroes," a petite blonde says with a flush which blooms so prettily under his cheeks. Theseus isn't sure which leaves him more speechless: the sentiment or the blush._ _

__"Do you?" he asks, unable to keep the smile from his face, tongue twisting so easily to make two words into a tease. Months in the trenches yet this is still inside him. That little rush of seeing someone respond, the feeling of the connection, and –_ _

__Percival's watching them._ _

__Theseus' eyes flick up to him, just in passing, just by accident, and he can see Percival with a mug of tea suspended halfway to his mouth, ignoring whatever the man next to him is saying. He doesn't look away; doesn't even blink. Theseus feels the air catch inside him, and that brush of fingers again. That's the most Percival's touched him; this morning he was all business, despite the way their words moved so easily back and forth._ _

__Suddenly the bubble bursts, and he hears "really amazing"._ _

__"Hmm?" He blinks, attention back now. "Sorry, what was that?"_ _

__Apparently he's the amazing one. It's flattering, and very promising, and when he looks back Percival's back is turned._ _

__\----------_ _

__"I'd hate to be the one to lecture _you_ ," Theseus drawls, "but it really is better to air your grievances. I'd hate for you to bottle anything up." Percival doesn't look at him, but Theseus can see his lips pressing tightly together._ _

__"This isn't the time."_ _

__"Maybe not," Theseus allows, looking at the whole line of them, wizards running a range of ages he doesn't want to think about even though it shouldn't surprise him. He's fairly certain some of the soldiers in his battalion can't be more than fifteen in real years. Funnily enough, he thinks it's actually the older ones who bother him more. They look like the world's spinning away from them. "But I'm not a fan of silence."_ _

__Percival scoffs. "I'd noticed."_ _

__Enough. Theseus reaches out and slings his arm around Percival's shoulders, relaxing into it. Under his arm, Percival visibly stiffens, and Theseus can feel the tension practically vibrating through him. Seems painful, to be honest. "So go on. What's bothering you?"_ _

__Slowly Percival turns enough to look at him. "It's nothing to do with you."_ _

__Theseus tilts his head, tonguing slightly at his teeth. "You just happen to be in a mood a day after meeting me."_ _

__"We're about to herd a _dementor_ the length of the front," Percival hisses, and there's something a little wild in his face, something catching in his voice. Theseus inhales as he realises that maybe this man, with his perfect posture and dismissive glares, is _scared_. As much as Theseus dreads that inky sucking at his soul, at least he's seen a dementor before. Percival hates the unknown. That's always been obvious._ _

__"Of course," Theseus says, nodding slowly, "I understand: brooding is a perfectly natural reaction."_ _

__"I'm not brooding."_ _

__"Whatever you say, Heathcliff." Theseus isn't a fan of _Wuthering Heights_ \- half the book is about a genuinely awful human being ruining people's lives just to get at some inheritance, he's only read it all the way through once, tortured soulmates be damned – but the gamble pays off as he savours the confusion on Percival's face._ _

__Whatever stunning comeback Percival is about to muster, Theseus never gets to hear it. Their orders are here._ _

__\----------_ _

__Strictly speaking, all you need for a patronus is a really good memory. The kind which rings through, pure and bright, no matter how life twists around you._ _

__Unfortunately, when you're stumbling through shell holes and painfully aware with every step that one falter in the shields and you'll be mown down by bullets, even a memory that bright seems laughable._ _

__Three wizards stationed on three sides all times, conjuring patronuses to drive the dementor forwards. Each with three more to conjure illusions and defences and whatever else it takes. Four confirmed patronus users in circulation for each position, so nobody leaves a hole for it to escape through. They're forcing it away from the greatest buffet it's ever encountered; it won't go willingly. They never do._ _

__You never get a good look at No Man's Land from the trenches – not for long, and not this clear, squinting through the periscopes as if they could help. They should be grateful for the full moon lighting the way, and some of the men are. The rest – the ones who've been stationed out here, who know the weight of what they're doing – can't stop looking, and Theseus could say which sides they fight on based on where they look. He's already twitched enough at the whispers of German, for all that the men share the same fear in their faces. When he tries to ignore it, he notices Percival keeps glancing too, even though he's never been down there._ _

__Trying not to trip over the bodies, it's hard to pinpoint the exact moment the emptiness starts sucking at him. When there's no face, no torso, outstretched hands, the hollowness is already burrowing deep. It's only when he looks to the side, sees Percival and feels nothing, that he knows they're close._ _

__Percival looks up at him, and Theseus nods. Percival shakes his head slowly, and his mouth forms the question, "How?" Theseus doesn't really know what he means, so he just reaches out and brushes the backs of their fingers together, just for a moment. Percival's hand twitches; pulls back, but doesn't vanish into a pocket. They march on._ _

__A single patronus is already something to behold. As the shadow rears up from the earth, dark and hungry, three surge forwards at once: a peacock, a terrier, a fox, all bounding together. The shining light soothes until the trenches eat back at the mind, and Percival is already joining the rest in making the air shimmer as they strengthen the charms they've walked under. Ideally, they'd make the muggles sleep or forget, but they have too much ground to cover. Besides, stories are already circulating about all sorts of miracles and demons, language Theseus barely understands but Percival clearly sees the benefit of._ _

__The fox falters, and Theseus is next. The dementor senses the weakness, surging towards their side; Theseus thinks of the soldiers at his back, remembers Newt's letter about visiting the Hebridean Blacks' sanctuary, and lets the spell pour out._ _

__Percival's breath catches audibly at his back. Thinking a scout or a gunner has spotted them, Theseus' head snaps around, but Percival is staring at the animal forming in the air. Theseus isn’t quite sure why: he's told Percival what it looks like already, a hundred times. Maybe Percival just never realised what an elephant looked like outside of the pages of a book._ _

__It's slow, gruelling work. They started at nightfall and make their way, step by hard won step, throughout the long hours. This dementor's fat on despair, from devouring troops, and Theseus can taste it in the air. At the edges, wizards are falling, apparated away before they can feed it. Relief comes in, but never enough. Worse, patronuses are starting to flicker, and those can't be replaced._ _

__A wand raises, and nothing emerges but a few wisps. The man cries out as the dementor looms over him, the sound ringing out across the wasteland. A moment later he's gone, a witch springing into action and sending her lion flying into the dementor's face. It recoils, howling with its not-voice, but the damage is clear throughout the group of them. (They're not soldiers; they're just wizards.)_ _

__The rest collapse slowly but steadily. Theseus is chilled to the bone, despite the charms he's packed his uniform with; he knows it's more than just cold. All he can feel is the weight of the war, of his own stupidity and recklessness. All he wants to do is curl up here amongst the dead. He remembers Newt laughing; a cloth bundle passed into his hands as his father said "this is your little brother." The elephant raises its trunk in the air, pushing the dementor onwards._ _

__At one point Theseus stumbles; his foot catches on a twisted piece of shrapnel and he falls. The ground rises up and he welcomes it, only he never quite impacts. His knees slam down but something catches the back of his jacket. For a moment he hangs in the balance, before he's wrenched back up to his feet._ _

__Percival's hand on the back of his neck. Percival meeting his wide eyes. Nothing said, but nothing needed. Theseus nods, turning back to the job in hand, and feels the weight of Percival's hand at the small of his back the whole way._ _

__They reach the end as the dawn pricks the sky with pink. Theseus is dead on his feet, but not dead; three of them left, him and two witches dressed in nurses' uniforms, the lion and some kind of bird of prey. Theseus doesn't know anything except the thought of his brother, the spell on his lips, and Percival's hand on his back. That's all he needs._ _

__The Azkaban relief team is there, exactly where they should be. Theseus' legs almost give out, and he might cry, but nobody says a word. He watches as they take over, only held back by someone catching his arm, and now he does collapse backwards. The world spins overhead, blurry and sparking. Someone touching his face; dark eyes._ _

__"It's over," a deep voice tells him, and he wants to argue, but it's dragging him down._ _

__\----------_ _

__Three days' recovery in Bordeaux, the sound of the seagulls familiar in a way which makes Theseus constantly cover his food in readiness to fend off an attack. Percival watches this with some bemusement, until they're by the sea a few hours later and one makes off with what looks like half a baguette. Same bastards anywhere._ _

__Halfway through explaining that skimming stones is an excellent way for any man to spend his time, Percival rather rudely interrupts with "you could have died last night."_ _

__Theseus closes his mouth, deciding that beach pastimes can wait until later. "I could die most nights, Perce. Pieces of metal ripping through your body will do that."_ _

__Percival winces. Somehow Theseus doubts it's to the nickname, although really, who knows with him? "That spell isn't intended for long-term use. It could have drained everything out of you."_ _

__"Well, I'm not exactly feeling sprightly right now," Theseus says slowly, not really sure where he's going with this._ _

__Sighing, Percival looks away. The horizon isn't that fascinating but each to his own. Theseus shifts from side to side in the silence, and when no further mysterious statements seem forthcoming, he starts transfiguring more stones so they'll skim better. You make your own fun when your brother won't leave the rockpools._ _

__"I can't cast a patronus."_ _

__"I'm not surprised." When Percival scowls indignantly, not unlike a wet kneazle, Theseus shrugs. "You think too much. It's exhausting." Swish, flick, release, and another stone begins its merry journey across the sea._ _

__In a rather pleasant twist, Percival doesn't argue back. He sits back on the bench, hands thrust into his pockets, and mutters, "I thought you'd like to know you can do something I can't."_ _

__"No need," Theseus says lightly, as if his head isn't buzzing, "I already know I'm bloody brilliant."_ _

__Percival smirks, so Theseus tucks the lie away. Still, later he remembers the look on Percival's face when he first saw the patronus, and thinks maybe it wasn't just the animal, but him too._ _

__\----------_ _

__Merlin's balls, a bath feels incredible. Theseus loses count of how many times he clambers out to drain the grey water and start over; how long he lounges after perpetually heating it. The trenches are still there when he closes his eyes, filled with stalking shadows, but the heat still feels wonderful._ _

__He fusses over his appearance the way he hasn't been able to in so long, combing every last bit of dirt out of his hair and shaving so close his skin tingles. He finds spare clothes hanging in the hotel wardrobe and transfigures them into something half-decent. The uniform is definitely not an option, and he intends to get shitfaced tonight._ _

__Just not alone._ _

__"One minute!" Percival shouts as Theseus hammers on his door, then, a moment later, "I said a minute!" and eventually, "One fucking minute!" Theseus does pause then, surprised and rather delighted to hear that voice stretched into anger and curses he'd never let slip in a letter. Whatever Percival makes of him, Theseus can't help enjoying him immensely._ _

__He starts hammering again with a wide grin on his face, one that he beams at Percival when he finally yanks the door open. Definitely worth the glares and the insults clearly on the tip of the man's tongue, to see him with hair not perfectly smoothed back and shirt clearly only just rammed into place. Indeed, just seeing him without coat or jacket is rather satisfying. Theseus tears his gaze away from the flash of wrists and neck, to see Percival looking at him very oddly indeed. His eyes have gone a little wide, his mouth still slightly open but no insult actually appearing, and he's holding onto the door rather more tightly than seems necessary._ _

__Tilting his head to the side, Theseus asks, "Is there something on my face?"_ _

__Percival blinks, then coughs suddenly, eyes darting away. "Just surprised to see you without the usual coating of mud. It turns out you actually have a face under there."_ _

__Theseus frowns, recognising that he possibly hasn't always been the cleanest in the couple of days since they met but not really feeling it merited that sort of reaction._ _

__Here's the thing about soulmates: there's no guarantee that they're romantic, or rather, that there has to be a sexual element to it. They're your other half and some people, Theseus supposes, don't want to sleep with themselves. (Not that he thinks that's what decides it.) Theseus knows how his instincts are, the way he assumes relationships will go, and he knows that Percival must either be well aware of that or he's just not been reading any of his letters from the last decade. It isn't sex which gives a relationship meaning, as far as Theseus is concerned. Relationships and sex don't have anything to do with each other. He's had sex with strangers and long-term friends, so all he knows is that you can't let him decide._ _

__Which leaves it to Percival. Percival, who hasn't shown the slightest interest._ _

__Theseus isn't an idiot, at least when it comes to this. Once the initial confusion passes, just because he wasn't expecting to see it, he knows what that expression on Percival means. Anyone else, in the pub or the office, he'd know exactly what to do. A sly smile, a tilt of the hips, a ridiculous phrase or two and they probably wouldn't even leave this bedroom. But that's the problem: Percival isn't anyone else. Percival's name is on Theseus' wrist, and while Credence is completely unknown, Percival is the opposite of a stranger. Except Theseus realises in this moment that until now he didn’t even know Percival liked men for certain. He would hardly be the first to find his soulmate the opposite of his usual preferences – some people avoid the sex altogether, too concerned with heirs or appearances, and of the people who know about the two names, a surprising number assume that Theseus will only be 'with' one of them, betraying an appalling lack of imagination in his opinion._ _

__Percival looks so scared. Or, no, 'scared' is too strong a word when yesterday you herded one of the darkest entities in existence in front of hundreds of men armed with guns and horror. 'Scared' was Percival when he'd caught Theseus on No Man's Land, the whites of his eyes showing clear. The slightly open mouth, the eyes already furrowed in that endless chain of thought – Theseus just caught him off guard. He isn't sure whether he's more flattered or insulted that a bath apparently made such a difference in his appearance (although maybe the smell had something to do with it too, nothing's as suspicious in a trench as cleaning charms)._ _

__Inhaling sharply, Theseus reaches up and stretches luxuriously. "So, drinking?"_ _

__Percival blinks. "Excuse me?"_ _

__"Always so formal," Theseus says, shaking his head. "Clearly you need wine, and plenty of it. Fortunately, we are in France. Even the town is named after wine."_ _

__Percival's still looking at him – Theseus doesn't have any problem with that whatsoever – but now at least that weary edge is coming back, as if just listening to Thesues is draining everything he has. "The wine is named after the area, Theseus."_ _

__Shrugging, Theseus says, "Nobody actually cares, Perce. Now, are we presenting this delightful picture of dishevelment to society," he circles a finger helpfully at Percival's general appearance, "or do you need a moment to lace your corset tighter?"_ _

__"I don't wear a corset." All of that alarm's gone now. The same grumpiness as ever, although Theseus could swear his shoulders seem lowered now, the tension leaving. Relief. Never a positive sign._ _

__"Always good to hear confirmed," Theseus tells him, "although that does still leave the question of what _is_ making you so angry all the time." Without thinking about it, he pats Percival lightly on the cheek, and counts himself lucky he doesn't lose a finger. "Downstairs, ten minutes. Don't make me drag you out into the streets, because I will."_ _

__He winks, then walks away as if there isn't a thought in his head._ _

__Sometimes he really wishes people were right about that._ _

__\----------_ _

__So nothing is going to happen between them - not like that, anyway. They spend two days drinking and laughing, Percival rolling his eyes whenever Theseus proposes anything, Theseus grinning with delight whenever Percival comes out with one of those dry observations that prove he really is the bastard Theseus always imagined. Nothing feels as good as drawing Percival out like that, seeing those eyes spark with something as they argue about books or fashion or anything else he's clearly wrong about._ _

__"I wouldn't call Millicent Boon an _author_."_ _

__"She's written twenty-eight books," Theseus sniffs, "which is twenty-eight more than you, so I think I trust her more than you on this." He doesn't mention that he's fairly certain there's more than one woman writing all of them._ _

__"You don't have to write books to recognise drivel."_ _

__"Quite right," Theseus agrees, smirking as he pauses to watch Percival's eyes narrow. "Emerson, on the other hand..."_ _

__"I'd suggest you think very carefully before you finish that sentence."_ _

__Theseus does not think at all, save for how much he wishes Percival actually wanted to kiss him._ _

__He keeps his usual company, flashing his usual smile at the waiters and nurses and postmen. He doesn't go to bed alone, which is all he wants: other humans, other life, light beyond the killing fields. Both mornings Percival watches him come down the stairs, newspaper spread before him and indignant observations as to his choice of partners at the ready._ _

__"I always assumed you were exaggerating."_ _

__"You shouldn't assume, Perce," Theseus says loftily as he steals the rest of his bacon._ _

__It's only at the end, when they have to go their separate ways again, that Theseus even realises that he's barely talked to any of the other wizards or witches from his side of the trenches. (The Germans and Prussians and so on had left by the time he'd woken up, uneasy about stretching the tension any further.) For all that he's been flirting and fucking (as Percival puts it), when he thinks back over the time, it's mostly been him and Percival. Not that anybody's thought anything of it – apparently their shared names are an open secret – but it's still disconcerting when you're used to keeping your distance._ _

__"Take care of yourself."_ _

__"Well, I was planning to perform a can-can line in front of the barbed wire, but now you've said that – "_ _

__"Theseus."_ _

__Theseus shuts up. There's this note Percival can hit in his voice which feels like it's penetrating right through to something basic in his mind. The closest comparison he can think of when someone shouts an order for him to duck right that second. Something in him doesn't even think about whether he should listen, it just does._ _

__Percival leans in, and Theseus doesn't think anything._ _

__"Promise me," Percival says quietly. "I don't want to lose you to this."_ _

__"I..." Theseus hesitates, biting at his lip as the words settle inside him. "I won't go volunteering for anything else. That's the best I can do." When Percival sighs, he glares. "Almost everyone else out here has someone who'll care if they die. I've already seen more people killed than I've known in my life, so no, I cannot guarantee you I won't be one of them. There is nothing in this war that follows any kind of rules I can see, and when wizards are releasing _dementors_ , you and I both know it's only going to get worse, because it always does when _we_ get involved." Percival draws back at that, but Theseus isn't done, grabbing at his arm before he can turn away. "I do what I can to shield my battalion, but that's very little without anyone noticing. I can either keep my head down or I can let everyone know magic exists and it's not being used to help them."_ _

__Percival looks down at the hand on his arm. Quietly, he asks, "Do you think it should?"_ _

__Theseus' hand tightens, then releases. "I don't what to think anymore," he tells him. "I'm just doing whatever I can."_ _

__Percival does not look impressed in the slightest, mouth twisting to the side and hands curling into fists at his side. Somehow he manages to look like he's looming over Theseus, despite the height difference going the other way. If he's trying to intimidate Theseus, it's not going to work, since he can feel himself starting to bristle despite not really knowing what exactly Percival is trying to intimidate him into._ _

__Then Percival scoffs and steps back, leaving the air gaping open between them. "You'd better get back," he says, suddenly all that intensity gone as if it never existed._ _

__Fighting back the urge to gasp at the suddenness of the change, Theseus just nods. "I'm sure you've got your own secret missions," he says, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Can't have people thinking America actually cares whether anyone lives or dies in this mess."_ _

__Almost. He almost gets a proper reaction. Percival's cheeks go a little paler, his mouth drawing back as if he's about to shout – and then it goes. Honestly, it's terrifying, watching the way emotion keeps rising and falling under the surface. Merlin knows that Theseus could use a little more control, but this is ridiculous._ _

__"It was good to finally meet you," Percival says, in the kind of well-bred pureblood tones which have always set Theseus on edge, and he doesn't know whether it's the alien voice or hearing those words again but twisted into something so very dismissive, but Theseus doesn't say anything._ _

__He just watches as Percival walks away._ _

__There's the front at his back, and maybe it won't get as bad as he fears. Nothing else about this war has followed expectations, so maybe he'll get lucky and that'll mean the bad as well as the good. It's not like he can leave it now, anyway._ _

__Without realising it, he’s wrapped his hand tightly around his wrist. If he's lucky, Credence won't be as much of a bastard; if he's really lucky, this will just be one of those things, and they can go back to being soulmates on paper and never see each other properly again. The thought makes his heart ache, but it's clearly all Percival wants. Theseus really must be a disappointment to someone like that._ _

__The weight of the rifle is more familiar than he'd like. The helmet flattens the world to the horizon, at a level he can understand._ _

__There is a war on, after all._ _

__\----------_ _

__The Somme, and he's been down in these trenches for bloody months and just what the bloody buggering fuck did he think he was _doing_ , getting mixed up in all this? Percival called him an idiot, and the bastard was bloody _right_ , wasn't he? Maybe he's an idiot too for following Theseus here, but at least he knew what he was getting into. Theseus can't even imagine how he ever thought that this was something he _should_ do, before all the other wizards started seeping their way into the ranks and the mud. 'Right thing to do', what bloody 'right thing' can there be when the world's gone to shit?_ _

__They're going over the top, _again_ , and Theseus barely knows how he survived the last two times. They say he's charmed but obviously the muggles have no idea, and the magic can't be all of it either because well over half the original fifty are long gone by now with more joining them every day. The magical community's not big enough for people to go missing. With a level of venom he never knew he could muster before, he thinks of the pureblood wizards who've weaselled their way in amongst the officers. Merlin's balls, maybe Percival's right: when this is all over, taking part's going to be like your family connections, just another thing to make people _matter_. He so wanted Percival to be wrong for once in their lives._ _

__His wrist itches. No time for that, though. Most of the time this war is just constant thinking with bugger all else to do, but now the whistle's blown and it's up and over, into the brief silence between their shelling and the Germans. Men are yelling as if that proves they can't die, and he's yelling because why the bugger not. Yell and don't think about whether Percival is in this too. Yell and don't think about Newt; about the father who won't speak to him; about the name –_ _

__Shock and pure feeling. He doesn't know how he ends up in the crater, or even on the ground, but he doesn't have to know to scramble to the far side, back against the shallow wall, as safe as you can be. Screams all around; never getting used to that._ _

__Percival thought this could be over – not by Christmas, but one day. Something gasps out of Theseus, a cry or a laugh, it's all the same these days. Who's going to want to live in that world? Either everyone bloody dies or the survivors live with this happening, this bloody scar across Europe (not just Europe either, he's heard about it spreading across the world, just give the Americans time and curse why Percival wanted to speed things along). No real point, is there? Maybe if they're lucky, the bad'll get washed away too, but luck's a foreign bloody concept these days. He met his soulmate, he's _lucky_ , but it was just fate taunting him again. One month, then he gets to die and feel bloody grateful they gave him that much._ _

__Artillery. Machine guns. Men. The last music he'll hear. If the war's unending, he should just curl up here and accept it. For once in his life, just stop _fighting_._ _

__He goes for his helmet. There's the photo in there, his family chasing that bloody niffler around the Christmas dinner; there's the letter Percival sent after they parted ways near Paris, bastard vanishing into the fog like Theseus just dreamt him up. Should've got a photo of him too, only Theseus knows he doesn't need it. He can still see that smirk around a cigarette, teeth a flash of brightness. Merlin, if he can have one thing, let Percival live._ _

__As he reaches up, he hesitates. There's no rain, but something running a trail across his wrist, winding through the mud. His cheeks feel chilled._ _

__There's something peeking at him through the mud. Something he thought he'd lost._ _

__Theseus never put his cuff back on after Bordeaux. He always hated the bloody thing anyway, and the cut of shirts being what they are, people only see –_ _

__They only see one name._ _

__He smears his thumb through the water, dipping down to pull the cuff back, and there they are. _Percival Graves. Credence Barebone_._ _

__He can't die yet. Maybe he's met Credence already, under a different name, the way he's always feared, but he doesn't _know_. This war's taken so much already, will keep on taking, but he can claw this free. His fingers trace around the names, and then clamp down around his wrist._ _

__When he opens his eyes again, he reaches for his wand, and he survives._ _

__\----------_ _

__It's flattering, really, the way Percival stares at him over the papers as Theseus smiles and shakes hands and refuses to stare back because he'll just never bloody stop. Three units Theseus has lost, constantly bounced on to the next one as if the men left dead in his wake just prove they should have tried harder. Someone should definitely be trying bloody harder but it wasn't them. Three units and then he's sat in the trenches watching Copper dealing cards – or rather watching his technique of making the cards fall exactly where he wants, muggle sleight of hand's bloody amazing – and then Pryce comes up and doesn't even bargain for a ciggie, just says the captain wants to see him, and it takes Theseus a minute of waffle to realise the orders being parroted have bloody _codewords_. What code, he had no idea, until the driver said they were pulling over for better transport and Theseus has never been so surprised to see a broom in his _life_._ _

__And then he's here, ushered into another burnt out French farmhouse. And there's Percival, staring. And all Theseus can makes his useless besotted body do is smile like an idiot at the whole team except him._ _

__He's not avoiding him. It's just, when someone's (half) the reason you've kept going through what Theseus is fast learning to call Hell, you're a little scared to make them real. The reality of whatever Percival's been going through is far more terrifying to him than the shells which have rained down around him, because at least then he could convince himself he hadn't imagined that look, those _eyes_._ _

__They're setting up some sort of special team, wizard recruits only, the ones who know their way around. Mostly Americans because, as Percival puts it, "too many of us and someone's to ask questions," but there are a couple of Brits Theseus remembers from a few years below him at school (same year as Newt) ( _don't think that_ ) – and a French and Belgian double act he can't wait to learn linguistic filth from. The war's getting more magical, and while they can set up wizarding units, right now they want experience. At least Theseus believes he has that._ _

__Merlin, sleeping under a solid roof and on a solid floor feels good. He lets the men fight over the beds and slumps off to the sofa next nearest to the fire, soon to be covered in his own mud, he has no doubt. Ah well, not like anybody's going to see it in anything like decent lighting. He doesn't think there's a single bastard here who's interested in casting even the faintest lumos. His hand goes up to tip his helmet over his face, only of course it's already in a pile with all the others in the corner. It's going to be a fun accio session tomorrow._ _

__\----------_ _

__He blinks his eyes open because he's being watched: not casual, fleeting, but heavy and piercing. Slowly he rolls his head along the arm of the sofa, so very not wanting to wake up, and there he is, on a chair from the dining room pulled up next to him, just an arm's length away. Not speaking. Just watching._ _

__"You're a very creepy man," Theseus slurs into the fabric._ _

__Something tugs at the side of Percival's mouth, just a touch. Theseus wants to feel it under his fingers. "I realise I can't describe sexual acts in any sort of detail in French, so I had to get your attention some other way."_ _

__Theseus hesitates. "Say 'sexual acts' again."_ _

__"No."_ _

__"Such a tosser."_ _

__Now Percival rolls his eyes and mercifully sits back, the air freer if not lighter. "That I do know. You've been a great help to my education."_ _

__"Always good to return a favour," Theseus says, and forces himself upright to cut off that line of conversation. "There a reason I can't get my beauty sleep?" He bats his eyelashes as best he can when they keep sticking together. "You think I've had enough?"_ _

__Percival looks a little dazed. Maybe he's just as tired as Theseus, just better at hiding it. Wouldn't be surprised. Presumably to wake himself up a bit, he coughs, then says, "I don't see why I need a reason to talk to – you."_ _

__Well, Theseus might be half asleep still but he's very good at noticing slips, especially from someone as smooth as Percival. He wonders what Percival was going to say that tastes so awful. "It couldn't wait until morning? Some of us are enjoying not being up to our knees in the Flanders countryside, you know."_ _

__Percival's fingers tighten around his knees. Theseus rather likes his fingers. "Apparently not, if you're going to get distracted by anybody who walks in."_ _

__Theseus might not be an expert in Percival physically – nowhere near the amount he'd like – but he's heard _that_ tone often enough before and it's fairly universal. His first instinct is to snap back, something pithy to nip this in the bud, except just in time the voice in his head which sounds the way he used to imagine Percival talking whispers that _if anybody has the right_..._ _

__With a sigh, he pulls himself up to his feet just long enough to slouch over to Percival’s chair, sprawling on the arm of it. He doesn't try to catch Percival's eyes; instead he reaches out, and runs a finger down Percival's left hand and traces a path down to his wrist. Percival's breath catches, and Theseus thrills at being allowed to do something so brazen, because only two people can ever touch Percival like this._ _

__Carefully he curls his fingers, guiding Percival's wrist to face upwards. There they are: Theseus' name, and Credence's beside it._ _

__Slowly, eyes watching Percival every step of the way, he leans over, and he presses his mouth to Credence's name. Percival's breath catches: that unflappable exterior shaken again, lit and shadowed by the fire. Theseus kisses again, and feels the hand in his twitch but stay where it is._ _

__"Some might call that a little egotistical," Percival tells him shakily, as if they don't both know where Theseus was kissing._ _

__Seizing the out, Theseus winks and draws himself up again, although he lets his hand fall to catch Percival's knee. With a smirk, he lets himself squeeze once, and Percival huffs in a way which is already gloriously familiar._ _

__Still. There is one thing, while the shadows hide the honesty. "I survived, and I intend to keep on surviving. And that mean we both do."_ _

__Percival's face does something strange, something which looks awfully painful. "Theseus, I'm glad but – "_ _

__"We both survive." They're barely inches apart now, because Theseus needs Percival to know this. "We live, and we find him, wherever he is."_ _

__Percival sighs, but Theseus won't let him look away. "It could take all our lives."_ _

__"That's why we need them. We do this together, Perce."_ _

__And just like that, easy as anything, as if they met in person all those years ago, he surges forward and kisses him._ _

__\----------_ _

__Theseus thought he was a greedy bastard before, when he just knew about Percival and wanted to write to Credence too. This though, this is miles worse, lying awake wondering just where Credence is but pressed so tightly against Percival, always fingers on wrists or hands on shoulders or just any contact at all._ _

__"He could be a friend," Percival tells him, the way he always does when Theseus gets so distracted tracing Credence's name over and over. "The two of us together, and talking to him."_ _

__Theseus has heard some variation on this all his life, it seems – people rationalise, the way they say that maybe Newt's died too soon as if that's _better_ – but he still makes a wretching sound of disgust, the one which makes both Newt and Percival talk about kneazles. "Bollocks to that," he hisses; leans in to kiss it, but pauses. Blame it on the trenches: he thinks a lot more than he ever used to. Plays Percival's voice in his head when they're assigned to different units. Can't stop listening to him._ _

__"Is that what you think?" Percival hums and Theseus doesn't trust that innocence for a second. He grew up with _Newt_. "Bastard," he says with a smile, just not as wide as usual. "Do you think you'd just be friends with him?" He should be so happy that Percival just announces they'll be together, the two of them. It should make him swoon. He does, a little, fingers linking without a thought, and yet he can't settle into it. Maybe this is what it's like when Newt fusses over stiff collars or rough sleeves. Something keeps catching._ _

__People – other people – can say what they like, think what they like. Theseus doesn't care about them. But he _knows_ they're a three. He needs Percival to _know_ it too._ _

__Percival looks from their linked hands to his wrist, still turned upwards. He's uncomfortable with it in public, but it turns out Theseus is the one who craves seeing the names so now it's always exposed between them. Something just for Theseus – and Credence, of course._ _

__"Perce?"_ _

__He sighs. "No," he says, "I don't."_ _

__"So..." Theseus raises his eyebrows expectantly, not daring to show the sheer size of the relief spreading through him._ _

__Percival huffs a laugh, the kind Theseus can feel when he rests his head on his chest. Now he does meet Theseus' eyes, although his mouth still twitches, still fighting biting his lip. "I think it's meant to be all three of us. Like this." Theseus feels those fingers flexing against his. "But – "_ _

__"Ah!" Theseus places a finger over Percival's lips, if only to watch those eyes widen in disbelief. "None of that." And when it looks like Percival might try to talk again, he distracts him._ _

__\----------_ _

__Incredibly, unbelievably, miraculously, the war ends. Theseus doesn't think he's sober for a week – more than tipsy for at least three days alone. Paris is glowing, the sheer joy and relief running down the streets like champagne. There'll be mourning soon enough, and some are already getting started, but Theseus finds every party going and drags Percival along in his wake. He wants Percival to know what _escape_ means._ _

__"You're a terrible dancer," Percival says in his ear, as if he's the expert._ _

__"Flatterer," Theseus sighs, "and after I let you lead, too."_ _

__Real life keeps dogearing the hours, but Theseus turns his back on it in a way he hasn't since Hogwarts. Maybe when he goes to brush his teeth, there's a flash in the window which makes him pause; or when Percival goes to get the drinks in, he's alone again. Theseus keeps on swallowing against it. Laughing matters, even when it's not to drown out the shells._ _

__\----------_ _

__Percival is looking at him so _seriously_. "Perce, the idea of a view is to look at the bloody view." Not that he really sees the point after the first two minutes but Percival's steady like that. "Unless this is going to be the worst overdramatic romantic line I've heard in my life, in which case, please do continue."_ _

__Percival doesn't smile. Why doesn't he smile? "Theseus."_ _

__"Of course," he says, far too loud and making some small creature scuttle off through the undergrowth, "you're fairly shit at this so maybe you should just leave it to me." He flutters his eyelashes, the way he did in that village. "My darling, my rosebud of – "_ _

__" _Theseus_."_ _

__He stops._ _

__"I have to go back."_ _

__Theseus swallows. "You're right, it's bloody freezing out here, we've got a perfectly decent room and – "_ _

__"Theseus."_ _

__" _What_?" His hand barely misses hitting Percival in the face, he's waving it around so much. "What, you want to say that you're heading out? You want to say your boat leaves next week? Tomorrow? In an hour?" He exhales, something high-pitched escaping with the breath. He can see Percival trying to hide, the moon leaving his face as it turns away. "Bugger it, Perce, you think I don't know?"_ _

__Percival shakes his head. "I don't see the point it ignoring it."_ _

__"You never do."_ _

__"Just because I don't ignore _everything_ – "_ _

__"No." Theseus jabs a finger at him, feeling the temper flare and honestly welcoming it just a little. "Don't you bloody dare. I don't _ignore_ anything, not like that. I know perfectly bloody well what's going to happen and I don't see the point in spending the ending worrying about the next bit. Makes everything too bloody sour to live."_ _

__He gets a smile. Bloody marvellous. "Eloquent as ever."_ _

__"We can't all be one of your sodding poets," Theseus tells him seriously._ _

__Percival blinks at him, frowning a little. "Are you – "_ _

__"Am I what?"_ _

__Shaking his head firmly, more like a horse than anything else, Percival turns back to what is supposed to be a truly astounding view of Paris the likes of which will show a man God – at least, according to a charming girl who took pity and brought coffee enough to rouse both of them that afternoon. Right now, though, Theseus thinks of London: pissing rain and smoke, too many people, and the endless politics of the Ministry. Dire beyond imagining._ _

__"You'll keep looking for him."_ _

__Theseus snorts. "You have to ask?"_ _

__A hand on his knee, squeezing. "I'm not. I'd expect nothing less."_ _

__Looking down at it, Theseus feels like that hand is squeezing his heart as well. He's read that more than once in those romance novels, but the reality is less flowery than he'd expected. He doesn't feel faint, just sick. "Bastard."_ _

__"Likewise."_ _

__"Don't you go taking it easy either. You never know, we might get unlucky and he's another one of your lot."_ _

__"Then he won't try to tell me that tea is drinkable."_ _

__The punch feels natural. So does the kiss._ _

__Saying goodbye three days later never does._ _

__\----------_ _

__The war follows him back across the Channel. That shouldn't surprise him: even in Paris it was clawing at him, still not able to believe he was stealing moments from everyday life with Percival rather than the battlefield. After the fifth person calls him a 'war hero' though, he's starting to think it's everyone else who's gone insane. The same bastards who'd sneer and call him a whore are now going out of their way to sidle up to him. He's got bloody _medals_ , for Merlin's sake. The shit's he supposed to do with those?_ _

__Percival was right, the bastard, the way he always bloody is. Maybe for them it was life and death and blood, but back here it's already another way to prance about like a peacock, and as much as he likes the silences aimed at those who steered clear, it's not worth it to hear a Malfoy or a Black or a Nott declaiming about their insight into the common man. ('Declaiming'. Percival's ruined him.)_ _

__Still. It's funny, seeing their faces when they have to talk to him so _nicely_ in front of everyone else. Theseus goes and he kills and he doesn't die and in exchange suddenly he's not the Whore of Hogwarts anymore. He can tell they don't agree, but bugger them, he knows he's both and it's not like he's sending them to the bottom of the shitheap no matter how much he'd like to. He's never claimed to be perfect by any measure, so he doesn't see the problem in enjoying this small silver lining._ _

__Third letter since Paris, and Percival's Assistant Director. Thank Merlin for that, Theseus would hate to think it's only Britain that's lost her bloody mind. Even better, he can tell the way Percival is talking through clenched teeth when he describes **doing all the fucking work around here**. Percival loves it, he knows, finally having some actual power to go with that astonishing work ethic. That almost makes up for the gnawing hole inside him. He wants Percival happy, but he wants him happy and where Theseus can bloody see him. You're not supposed to miss a war because you miss your social life._ _

__Having apparently made 'useful European contacts' (the way they're rewriting the war in their own poncy words makes him sick), at least he can get out of the city and the country and get paid for doing it too. Nowhere's the same without Percival, but bugger it, the world isn't the same without the war and they're all adjusting. First time he goes home – home for Christmas, five years too late –he gets the frosty treatment from his father for two days until the drinks come out and one of Britain's finest wizarding diplomats starts ragging on every treaty coming out of the peace talks. In three days Theseus learns more geography than he has in the rest of his life, and it's all being torn to shreds. He isn't sure how countries can just stop existing, can barely understand empires – an observation he should have kept to himself, but as bloody awful as it sounds he likes reading Percival's derision. He can hear the acidic sarcasm and he smiles to himself. Such a bastard._ _

__\----------_ _

__Paris is thriving come the 'twenties, artists and absinthe and Theseus loves all of it; Berlin isn't exactly thriving but somehow he likes it even better, his German rapidly expanding into all the sordid nightlife occupations he could possibly want. Some of it's like Soho, but so much more than that. Nobody cares about wizards and muggles, it's all lifestyle and the world expanding into something Theseus could agree with. The letters from America use alluring words like 'prohibition' and 'speakeasies', and Theseus snorts at the idea of Percival's expression._ _

__In Paris he meets a lovely couple, Lili and Gerda, and when Gerda explains about the flicker inside her when Lili chose her name, he feels his own wrist burning. Rumours had been enough before to send him hunting, but now he has proof: it doesn't have to be your birth name, so long as it's _your_ name._ _

__He meets a possible Credence in Brussels, quick-witted and quick with his hands too; another batting his eyelashes in Berlin and complaining about how silly dresses are; a third right at home in London, a muggle and so perfect that he's willing to fight Percival's ridiculous country's notions, and it breaks his heart all over again when the case is closed and the whole buggering club is obliviated._ _

__**I will never understand why you do this to yourself.** _ _

__Theseus peers blearily at the paper, not sure if it's the lack of sleep or the firewhiskey blurring his vision. No matter, he's read it enough times to know the words. He just feels that doubt again, about what Percival actually feels. The faces he's pulling when he writes; the way Theseus would know in an instant if he could just _see_ him._ _

__**If you were the one left out,** he says instead, **wouldn't you want us to find you?**_ _

__\----------_ _

__Percival becomes Director and even if everything else is off, at least there's one thing right with the world. **Good to know we're all buggered,** he writes because this is something else where if he put the words inside him on the page they might burn up. He's so bloody proud that he gets properly sodding drunk in a way he hasn't since the last time he was in Berlin, and it almost makes him forget that clawing monster inside which reminds him of how impossible it'll be for Percival to visit now. You'd think people would care that he has connections to the head auror in America, only people really don't make sense, and Theseus has never ever wanted to be the kind of person who goes around waving their wrist like they're entitled to the same treatment as their soulmate. He bloody _hates_ that; knows Percival does too, which is just another way they go together. Theseus is making a list of those, on and off, when he's happy and in love, and he goes over it when he's broken-hearted. At least he has his rock. Even if sometimes he thinks it'd be kinder to dash himself against it._ _

__He gets posted up to Norway out of nowhere, replacing some bored auror cursed by a herring, and when he can't figure out why – he knows _Europe_ , not this, he's a confirmed landlubber and he doesn't like the way Durmstrang run things – it's the first time anyone says that the head of the Auror Office is _scared_ of him._ _

__**I'm the least terrifying person I know,** he insists, although he does allow, **politically**._ _

__Percival, elbows deep in Picquery's career, tells him, **You've got connections, people trust you, and medals are fashionable. You don't have to like something for it to be true.**_ _

__It pisses him off no end: the idea that he'd be like Percival, like bloody _Picquery_ or any of the Slytherins fighting their way up the greasy pole. Theseus... Honestly, Theseus just wants to help people. That's all he's ever wanted. Why don't people ever seem to understand that? He's sure Percival doesn't intend his reply to sound so bloody patronising, but who can ever tell with that man?_ _

__He eats sodding herring for six months and then he's _finally_ back in London, determined to prove this is all ridiculous, only it turns out that it’s not. Suddenly, now it's been pointed out, he can see the Us and Them building, not just in the Auror Office but throughout the Ministry. Having loathed politics all his life as a coward's game, he has no idea how long this has been going on, but there are traces of it everywhere: who's in charge, who makes the decisions, and who gets shoved into obscurity. Some people want change of any kind; some for a proper break with muggles, whatever the shit that would look like; others want full integration. Honestly, Theseus probably sympathises with the last group most, but even he can tell that he shouldn't say that, which makes him gag. He's never held back before. It's not what he bloody does. The problem is, that's usually when he fights someone, but he doesn't bloody know who._ _

__Which is how he ends up duelling his own boss._ _

__Montague shouldn't even have been in the field. He was fine for the kind of menial busywork that somebody always has to do, and honestly the Office had been seriously benefiting from having basic paperwork filled out by someone with his experience, something even the shellshock couldn’t take that away. But Theseus has seen him go to pieces at the sound of a gun during a raid on the docks; seen him flinch if someone so much as slammed the door. He shouldn't have been sent on that mission, no matter how 'routine' it was – some agitators joining up with muggle anarchists, as if that was ever going to end well – and Theseus bloody said so, in private and then in front of the whole bloody department. Maybe he shouldn't have done that last part, but with the blood pounding he never does think straight. And Hollander ignored him. So when Montague doesn’t come back, Theseus challenges him in front of half the Ministry and beats him in ten seconds flat. Doesn’t even get to punch him._ _

__When he's summoned to the Minister's office, he assumes he's getting fired. He's already working out the phrasing while they make him wait outside, thinking of Percival's appalled expression as his fingers twitch and tap against his leg. He catches sight of Percival's name and thinks that maybe _this_ is how he meets Credence. You never know._ _

__It takes him a long time to realise that the Minister is offering him a job. Which is a terrible idea._ _

__"That's a bloody terrible idea."_ _

__McLaird taps his wand against his desk – not threatening, Theseus doesn't think, but then he has a fairly high standard for what he considers a threat. "We have a problem. We can't keep Hollander. You..." He paused, mouth twisting as he found himself in need of a pesky long word. "You _humiliated_ him, which hurts us. So here we are."_ _

__Theseus leans back in his chair, barely resisting the urge to put his feet up on the desk just to see if he can startle a reaction beyond monotone grumpiness. "You're buggered?" he asks. An eye twitch, which he'll take as a win. "You have to be if you're honestly offering me this." Although he supposes it does count as a punishment, the more the full implications start to sink in. All that _paperwork_._ _

__"Who else?"_ _

__He throws up his hands. "Anyone. Patil? She already practically runs the place." As soon as the name leaves him he finally gets a reaction: a flinch. Right. Hardly appropriate, he supposes. He wants to argue, he _always_ wants to argue, but then as McLaird somehow manages to narrow his eyes even further (can he even see?), it's suddenly as if Percival is standing right there in the room with them. McLaird is saying _something_ but Theseus doesn't care, because he can see that letter from all those years ago, Percival telling him that **if you have a chance to change things from the inside, you take it**._ _

__Oh, Theseus will make them regret this._ _

__His first official act as Head of the Auror Office is to appoint Patil his second-in-command. Technically he supposes contacting the Director of Magical Security over in MACUSA counts, but the language he uses isn't very official at all._ _

__Percival doesn't disappoint: **Good to know we're all fucked.**_ _

__\----------_ _

__Being Head Auror is about as much fun as Theseus expected, which is to say that every day he has to fight the urge to burn the Ministry to the ground and all the paperwork with it. Fortunately for the insurance and appearance of stability, Patil turns out to be very willing to run things whenever Theseus feels the need to run off to Europe. That isn't even as irresponsible as he'd like it to sound: the promotion doesn't make the situation on the Continent any calmer. If anything, the more everyone drinks and dances, the more that slight frenzy starts eating in at the edges._ _

__"You know how they cook frogs?" Mathilde asks. Not a possible Credence, just a friend who understands you can have sex on schedule and still stay friends. Funny how many people don't seem to get that._ _

__Theseus makes a face. He knows better than to criticise French cooking, but some of the ingredients make him think too much about Potions lessons. "Hit them over the head?"_ _

__Mathilde kicks him in the shoulder. The mattress absorbs most of it. "They put them in water, then heat it until it boils. The frog doesn't even know it's happening."_ _

__It's grim, obviously. It stays with him though, back out in the Parisian streets and seeing more flyers than ever, hearing everyone around him talking about movements of all types. It's the same story in London, Berlin, Brussels, Luxembourg, the lot. Same when you had North, South, East, West. Percival only seems surprised to hear Theseus bring it up first._ _

__**The war was supposed to end this.** _ _

__**I wasn't aware it was supposed to do anything.** _ _

__Bastard. Always right._ _

__As much as the taste in his mouth feels like blood, Theseus has to admit that all the war seems to have managed is to make everyone angrier than ever._ _

__\----------_ _

__He doesn't remember the first time he hears the name Grindelwald. By the time it registers, it's everywhere in the Ministry and on the street. Some silver-tongued agitator who always knows the right thing to say and when. Wouldn't be so bad if he didn't attract every single wizard who ever said the muggles should have been left to kill themselves; the ones who joined up just to ignore lines and kill wherever they wanted. Theseus reads the reports and, more to the point, talks to whoever he can, and the picture he builds is of someone taking all that pain and grief just to make himself powerful. With _words_. If the bastard wasn't so hard to find, maybe Theseus would just apparate in and worry about the consequences later. 'Rats in the gutter'. As if Europe doesn't have enough problems._ _

__**Any of this with you?** he asks, because America is strange when it comes to these things. He rubs at his wrist and wonders whether he'd rather that Percival was here or safe. What does it say about him either way? **Sounds right up your alley.**_ _

__He shouldn't jab about the muggle separation thing, probably, but what with Grindelwald spouting exactly the same nonsense, it just sticks with him all the more._ _

__**We've got our own problems,** Percival tells him, not as dismissive as he reads probably. Prohibition has him on edge, Theseus knows, now that the initial shock has passed. Crime on the up, and plenty of wizards seeing a way to make easy money and sod the laws. Theseus can't blame them, but that's not really the point. Besides, there's Piquery too, newly minted President and now poised to do Merlin knows what. Theseus trusts Percival but he can't say the same for her._ _

__Grindelwald's supporters get bolder; Newt gets offered a publishing deal. They're not connected for anyone else, but Theseus can't help feeling overwhelmed. He wants to worry about his brother but now it seems there's quite a lot of use for a Head Auror who's best known for duelling and fighting overseas. It's strange, but he much prefers being in charge of that than the Department. It's action; it's something he understands. It's something other than trying to fill out endless forms while he has no idea where his brother is._ _

__He knows he's letting his correspondence slide again, the same way it does whenever what's in front of him gets interesting. With paperwork, he'd write to Percival and Newt endlessly and curse at their inconsideration in not replying within the hour. With a target, it takes him too long to realise he should really check up on whether Newt needs breaking out of any prisons. Even Credence falls to one side when he's like this. Percival would say that that's a good thing, but that doesn't help the guilt when you suddenly remember at three in the morning that you never got the name of that new auror with the wide smile._ _

__He tells Percival all of this by way of an apology for his distractions. After all, if anyone's going to understand this, it's him: the enormity of Theseus forgetting to look._ _

__They come so bloody close to catching Grindelwald. As much as Theseus loves having something that feels like real work to him, he doesn't like the way his words are festering. When they arrest someone these days, more often than not they spout some line or other from his speeches. At first most of them just seemed to like the words as something to get themselves out of trouble, same as the pureblood students whining that they shouldn't get detention because of who their parents are. That was bad enough but any auror who's been working more than a week is used to it. Now though, more and more they honestly seem to believe it. Theseus doesn't need Percival to tell him how dangerous that belief is._ _

__Bastard slips away. Aurors dead. Not a hint of a clue as to where he's gone. Theseus drinks with all the rest and almost misses battlefields._ _

__He used to worry that Credence might get shot any day; had to tell himself the names meant survival, for all three of them. Now, though, that slight sliver of thought slides into his mind, sure as one of those stilettos they'd confiscated the other week: what if Credence is one of Grindelwald's fanatics? Alive, but believing in someone Theseus just can't? (He's read the speeches. They're very pretty words but Theseus has heard plenty of those in his life.) What if he finally finds Credence somewhere in one of these raids? What if one of their informants says his name?_ _

__Would he still want to know him? Would he still want to have him?_ _

__What does it mean if Theseus looks at the idea of abandoning everything he thinks and feels for this stranger on his wrist ... and he blinks?_ _

__This is why he needs Percival, for Merlin's sake._ _

__\----------_ _

__He doesn't realise until he finds the envelope balanced on top of some files that it's taken Percival far longer to reply than usual – a whole week, very unusual. It makes sense, a little, when the letter reads pretty curt even by Percival's standards. It's a bit vague and short but it sounds like he's got plenty of his own work to handle._ _

__The way he dismisses the Credence comment makes Theseus frown, though. Even for Percival... Before, he'd have allowed it, but it doesn't quite sound like someone so determined that Credence must be _that_ kind of soulmate. Unless that's what distance does. Theseus is hardly unaware that he tends to take these things far more seriously than he should._ _

__A knock at the door, and more work. He goes back to it with a bad taste in his mouth._ _

__Thank Merlin, they have a raid on some sympathisers to execute, and as much as Theseus shouldn't be happy about it, there are at least twice the numbers expected at this meeting and all of them seem very happy to come out wands blazing. It's both the good and bad things about Grindelwald's lot, compared with all the other various groups and factions flaring up and constantly merging and dividing: they're more than happy to make a scene. And, well, if they're going to have to cover this up anyway._ _

__Percival's letter still reads wrong when he gets back with the taste of ashes in his mouth, but it doesn't hurt so much. Let him be a bastard if he wants to be._ _

__He looks at his wrist, slumped over informant reports and listening to Patil update him on what else might be going on in just this one country, and he just feels hollow. Maybe it's better not knowing. Is that what Percival is trying to tell him?_ _

__\----------_ _

__Rain on his umbrella, because England is England and never more so than by the sea. Cold winds fighting warming charms just as fast as they can cast them, and he wonders whether he should really give this up._ _

__He writes Percival an apology, of sorts. Not a hint of the word sorry anywhere in there, but he trusts Percival to pick up on the fact that Theseus isn't in the mood to fight over this. Obviously in terms of words written, they were never fighting in the first place, but Percival's complained constantly about feeling late to the event when Theseus has had days to chew over his resentments. He was angry, but now he just needs to know Percival is still there. Maybe that is all he needs._ _

__Another delay. Theseus notices it earlier this time, because he's moping and when he gets like this he needs either Percival or Newt to pull him out of it (or one of his possible Credences, but he doesn't have time for anything other than anonymous fucks these days). He's still worried about Newt after that business in Sudan, but now there's a bloody thunderbird in the picture and he can just picture the look on his brother's face. He needs that, with Percival silent like this. Unappreciated?_ _

__This letter reads better, in that it doesn't make Theseus want to go practise his explosive spells. Percival seems in a less pissy mood, at least, although he still sounds a little distant. There's nothing wrong with what he's saying, exactly, which makes Theseus wonder if he really is just whining for attention like a crup who wants the last bit of bacon. He's just looking for ... something else, really. That sense of connection he remembers from their war letters. Only there isn't a war on, of course, and Theseus really needs to get some more sleep if this is the way his thoughts are going to keep wandering whenever he's taking over surveillance on another building which won't contain Grindelwald._ _

__He should be glad Newt is heading to America. The idea's always entertained him, all the way back to Hogwarts: composed rule-following Percival confronted by the ball of awkward kindly illegality which is Theseus' brother. He tries to shake off his mood long enough to enjoy the fact that the day is fast approaching, only all he can think is that he doesn't know when he'll next see Newt. He's only in Britain for two days between ships, not even giving Theseus the excuse to go home. Not that he could afford it, with the workload. They need a lead, _somewhere_._ _

__\----------_ _

__Newt scratches Niff a little on the neck, a sure sign that he doesn't really want to be here. Nothing personal against Theseus, he knows, but it still twinges a bit. "Do you ever wonder if there's something in what he says? Not his fanatics, but him?"_ _

__Theseus glares, if only to ignore the skip in his chest. "Thinking of taking up rioting? Creatures not chaotic enough?" Instantly he regrets it, even before he sees the set to Newt's mouth. It's not his brother's fault. Newt asks these questions sometimes, gauging their thoughts. "Sorry."_ _

__"It's fine," Newt says, only a little quieter than Theseus would like. "I don't agree with what he says about muggles, These, you know that."_ _

__"I do." Theseus sits back in his chair, rubbing at his wrist the way he does these days when he can feel everything spiralling away. "So what's brought this on?"_ _

__Newt's eyes focus on Theseus' hands. He fights the urge to hide them. "If we didn't have to hide, maybe that would mean the creatures too."_ _

__Of course. Enough heart for both of them. As much as Theseus loves his brother, that doesn't mean he'll lie to him. Not these days. "That wouldn't change anybody's minds. It's about benefiting themselves. Same as usual."_ _

__Niff scampers away. Theseus is fairly certain he's charmed his flat sufficiently but now he's wishing he'd added a sixth layer to the front door just in case. The thought usually goes that if some of them can run about then Newt's case is less likely to empty a zoo into London, but Theseus has never trusted that niffler as far as he could throw it._ _

__Newt sighs, his shoulders sinking. He always looks like this, when he remembers how selfish humans are. It breaks Theseus' heart every time, from when it was a child's sadness to now when he just seems so disappointed. He's so preoccupied with remembering Newt's first year that he startles a little when his brother says, "I'm not going to bother him if I can help it."_ _

__"Who?" Somehow Theseus doubts he means Niff._ _

__"Percival." Newt nods at his wrist. "That's what you're worried about."_ _

__Theseus wants to be proud of him. He wants to feel that warm tingle from just hearing him say Percival's name. Instead he just feels his stomach twist. "I'm not."_ _

__Newt raises his eyebrows. "You're not worried about me meeting one of your soulmates?" He says it so lightly, even with a smile, that Theseus can't help but feel like a monster for the way he can't manage anything other than a dead-eyed stare. The silence grows. "These?"_ _

__"Go bother the bastard as much as you like," he says, the chair scraping against the floor as he decides that maybe four cups of tea isn't enough. "I'd hate to disappoint him."_ _

__"You don't."_ _

__"How do you know?" Theseus doesn't mean to snap; knows how it gets to Newt. He can't bear to look._ _

__Another chair scraping, this much quieter. Movement and a sense of someone behind him. The slightest touch between his shoulderblades and he inhales._ _

__Eyes squeezed shut, he mumbles, "I wish I didn't have any."_ _

__Newt sighs. Fortunately he doesn't insult either of them by asking. "I'm glad I don't," he says. Theseus remembers him being upset about it at school, but that had never been about wanting it so much as feeling left out. It had just made him want to hug his little brother so tightly and never let go._ _

__"Do you really think I got yours too?"_ _

__"Of course not." Theseus jumps when he feels fingers against his wrist. Turning in sheer disbelief, he lets Newt hold it between them. "I'm also glad you have two. They suit you."_ _

__"You don't know them," Theseus points out. "Either of them, really."_ _

__"I know you." Newt smiles at him. "They're yours, so I know I'll be fine." His mouth quirks to one side. "Really."_ _

__"Brat." Theseus taps the side of Newt's head lightly, and when his brother doesn't pull back, he pulls him in to ruffle that hair into as much of a mess as when he'd climbed out of the case this morning. "Don't say I didn't warn you if Perce locks you up."_ _

__\----------_ _

__More than anything, Theseus wishes he could take the morning off to see Newt's boat off. As soon as all this is over, he decides, he's resigning. Not from the Auror Office, but from this job. Patil's more than proven herself, the rest of the Office will back her (Theseus hasn't been in the habit of giving that much power to the sort of idiots who'll insult her anyway), and he misses ... something. Not that he doesn't want to be an auror, far from it, but inside there's that sense of things coming unsettled._ _

___They're yours._ _ _

__Isn't that what matters?_ _

__Theseus rubs at his eyes, taps his mug to refill it, and gets back to finding Grindelwald._ _

__\----------_ _

__There's a promising lead a week later, _finally_ – the kind of lead that leaves them all scrambling because they can't afford to let this go. A possible sighting in Amsterdam, hardly the most likely of hiding places but then Theseus isn't attempting to lead an uprising so what does he know? Only when he gets out there, his team linking up with the local aurors, they're led on to Copenhagen, then Oslo, the air and the trail getting colder. Everybody's thinking it's a dead end but nobody wants to be the one to say it. Theseus maintains that someone left all this for a reason but maybe he just wants to feel like they're finally getting somewhere. Or maybe he just doesn't want to think about Newt getting to America, Newt closer to Percival than he's been in years. Two parts of him in New York, across the pond._ _

__They find a measly hut in a Polish village Theseus is too tired to even attempt to pronounce. There's one witch inside, another out in the fields, and enough papers once they cast revelio on her suspicious pile of books that nobody even jokes about stealing a timeturner to wipe all this out. Theseus' eyes are itching painfully, so tired he even accepts the Ministry-sent portkey even though he could just find somewhere to sleep here and stay away from all that for another few hours. He staggers through the corridors, vaguely aware people are trying to talk to him but mind singly focused on his office, and his chair, and something like sleep._ _

__Patil is in his office. He blinks slowly at her, slumped against the doorframe. "Is this a coup?"_ _

__She doesn't even play along. Even in his current state, Theseus knows that's worrying. "If I let you sleep first, you'll hate yourself."_ _

__"Well, that's bloody ominous." Possibly that sounded better in his head before his mouth slurred it all together. Never mind, Patil can figure it out._ _

__Her face looks ... odd. He blinks again, hard, trying to force everything back into focus and his brain into something like functioning, and _shit_. On anyone else, that would look like worry. "Patil?" he asks, the first whispers of adrenaline singing to him. "What is it?"_ _

__She gestures at his desk. There's always more paperwork than when he left; what's not normal are the letters, all with a large M stamped on them. "MACUSA's been trying to get hold of you. It's about your brother."_ _

__Theseus' legs almost give out under him. "What?" Behind him, it's like everyone's suddenly talking at once, the noise suddenly so loud as if they're trying to drown out his thoughts too. He just wants to scream._ _

__She swallows. "I'm sorry, but - "_ _

__"Scamander!" He leans back in disbelief to see the head of the bloody Home Office bearing down on him._ _

__"Malfoy, this really isn't – "_ _

__"They found Grindelwald." Is it just him, or is Malfoy smirking a little bit? Granted, that's par for the course, but there's a glint in his eye which even in his distressed state Theseus doesn't like one bit. Nor does he like the way Malfoy's eyes dip to his wrist, just for a second._ _

__"Oh, good," Theseus says faintly. Maybe he passed out in Poland after all. Is this a dream part or the other one? "You seem happy."_ _

__At least Malfoy frowns a bit at that, before his brow smooths out into oily satisfaction. "Impersonating the Director of MACUSA. You know him, don't you?"_ _

__\----------_ _

__No sleeping now._ _

__Theseus doesn't think he's ever moved through the Ministry so fast, cursing every ban on eased movement with every word he's learnt overseas, almost fast enough to overtake the news. Almost: gossip's better at apparating than any wizard. He gets to the portkeys to find them sealed, on Malfoy's orders of course, and the Minister refusing to lift it until they can get anything like coherent information from America. It's the single most sodding idiotic thing Theseus has ever heard but it's hard to put together an argument when half of you is asleep and the other half is full of so much rage it burns through every word. Percival could do it, he thinks, and that's enough to make him stop._ _

__Nobody tries to make him leave. Most likely they're relieved he's willing to wait it out down here. He should be trying to do _something_ , he knows that, but also his hands won't stop shaking. He tries to focus on the names but they blur in front of him. _Not right,_ he thinks, _not right_ , both of them have to survive to meet Credence and – _ _

__Oh Merlin, he doesn't even care about finding Credence right now. Credence can wait, just let Percival be all right. Let Percival be alive and Theseus will give up, he swears to whoever's listening as his cheeks feel oddly chilled. He won't ask for anything more. He just needs Percival._ _

__Someone tells him they're letting him through – him and nobody else. He doesn't know who, because nothing else matters. Outside, everybody's still scrambling, but he knows where he has to be._ _

__\----------_ _

__Newt's more than a little alarmed when Theseus sights him at the end of the corridor, a vague impression of wide eyes and stuttered questions getting closer before Theseus gathers him into the kind of tight hug he hasn't allowed himself for a decade. His brother's talking but Merlin's _balls_ Theseus just cares that he's here, still standing, still alive. He holds him and just tries to focus on breathing. Newt's coat is wet, probably from the rain he tells himself. Part of him safe._ _

__He straightens up, inhaling sharply and trying to stand as if his knuckles aren't white from hanging on to Newt to keep himself from swaying. "You're all right."_ _

__Newt smiles, looking no less concerned. "I think they’re leaving me alone until they know what to do with me. It’s all right though, I’m letting Tina handle it."_ _

__Theseus should probably ask who Tina is, except he can't guarantee in his present state that he hasn't heard of her before. It doesn't matter, either: the warmth in Newt's voice is enough. Right now, whoever she is, she has his brother's trust and therefore his as well. Instead he asks, "Is it true?"_ _

__"Which bit?" Newt looks so uncomfortable, nothing so suspicious as when he's trying to look innocent, and Theseus finds it hard not to see him at five years old hiding bowtruckles under his shirt._ _

__Shaking his head to try to clear it (not really succeeding, the world sliding a little sideways), he says, "I'm going to ignore that. Grindelwald, Newt. Percival." His fingers clench again, shaking. "Is it true?"_ _

__Hands at his shoulders. "Yes." Maybe Newt says more but the constant ringing in Theseus' ears is building back up to a scream. Vaguely he's aware that he's making a scene, but who the shit cares, Theseus always has made scenes and over far less than this. He realises his mouth is moving but there's no sense of what he might be saying, since all he can muster is telling Percival that they _both have to survive this_._ _

__Suddenly that warm presence leaves and Theseus almost falls flat on his face. Newt is staring over his shoulder and he turns to see ... shit. Madame bloody President herself._ _

__This is good. Now he's too angry to be upset._ _

__"What the buggering _shit_ – "_ _

__She holds up a hand, imperious as ever. "He's alive."_ _

__Theseus’ mouth moves dumbly for a few moments as the curses wind down. "What?"_ _

__"We found him," she says, far too calm to be human. If he were in a kinder mood, perhaps he'd note the bags under her eyes, the way she's clasping her hands together like a shield. Unlikely, though. For all Percival thinks she's the best thing this country could have had, Theseus has never trusted anyone who sets out to rule the world when they're barely into double figures. "Less than twelve hours after catching Grindelwald."_ _

__"You mean my brother catching Grindelwald."_ _

__She closes her eyes, just for a moment. Good. Let her be rattled. "Yes. Obviously there will be a thorough investigation – "_ _

__"I should bloody hope so. "_ _

__" – and you are welcome to assist."_ _

__Theseus narrows his eyes. "That doesn't seem a very wise idea on your part."_ _

__"That's the theory." She smiles. Theseus does not. "The last thing we need now is all of us at each other's throats. You've been looking for Grindelwald, now he's here, and you're outside of this government. Nobody will accuse you of being biased in our favour."_ _

__Shit. Picquery’s hard enough to follow even when he isn’t trying to think through treacle. "You let me into the country."_ _

__"We can discuss anything you like later," she tells him, turning away, "within reason, of course." When he starts to object she calls over her shoulder, "There's a portkey ready for the hospital, Mr Scamander."_ _

__And Percival _likes_ that woman._ _

__\----------_ _

__The healers clearly aren’t happy to see him, but that’s all right because Theseus isn’t interested in pleasing people, even less than usual. He never gets on with healers, even at the best of times. He respects everything they do in a professional sense, obviously, it's just that they don't seem to return the favour. After you've had yourself magically restrained to the bed enough times (and not in the fun way), you start to wonder if it's even worth being polite._ _

__This time, though, for all that he sees their mouths tighten and their shoulders square, they don’t make him pull rank or namedrop Picquery or flash his wrist around like the worst kind of pureblood. Only Percival could make him do this: drop all those principles without thought if it means getting to him a second sooner. Bugger, Theseus is an idiot. Everything in him is singing, _screaming_ , ready to tear his way through. To his soulmate._ _

__When they wave him through, the relief is overwhelming as all that adrenaline has nowhere else to go. For all his urgency, he sags a little against the wall, trying to remember how to breathe._ _

__“I told you to get out!”_ _

__Theseus’ head snaps up, wondering slightly insanely whether this was all just another trick. Why not at this point? Only as the world blinks back into focus does he realise that the healer isn’t talking to him anymore._ _

__There’s a boy in front of the desk, curled over like a question mark. The most remarkable thing about him is how hard he’s trying to seem unremarkable, enough that Theseus can see everyone only responding to the shouts. Unfortunately from this angle the desperation in the boy’s face gives him away: as much as he clearly wants to look neutral, he also looks ready to cry. He’s…familiar, that way._ _

__He catches sight of Theseus looking at him and startles. He doesn't run, although Theseus wishes he didn't look quite so much like a rabbit caught in wandlight. Theseus can see the whites of his eyes from several feet away; feels the jolt of the eye contact and the panic._ _

__Theseus shouldn't get involved. Unfortunately, if he had a knut for every time he's thought that, he would have a very tidy fortune squirrelled away in Gringotts and possibly be able to buy a small country on the side. (He blames Percival for this thought, even though if anybody's going to _buy a country_ it's an American.)_ _

__"Is there a problem?"_ _

__The boy flinches; the healer scoffs. Neither are reactions which encourage Theseus to walk away. Yes, he wants to see Percival more than anything, but that doesn't mean he can ignore something like this. Just looking at the way the boy's spine curves is making his back twinge, on top of everything else._ _

__"No problem, sir," the healer says, and Theseus does not appreciate the way he sneers the title. If he dislikes it, just don't say it, it's not that hard. Merlin, Theseus would actually prefer it if people never called him that again. "Just explaining that right now I don't know this kid from Adam."_ _

__The boy's face twitches at that. He looks so wretched, so accepting of all this._ _

__"He's with me."_ _

__Both of them look at him incredulously. Honestly, Theseus agrees, but that's not really appropriate when your strategy throughout your life is pretending you know what you're doing. He smiles broadly at the healer, pats him on the arm and only gets slightly distracted by the unexpectedly solid muscle there, and then jerks his head at the boy. He means that last part nicely, although possibly it doesn't come off that well. Anyone passing by would think he'd just bought a horse, from the way the boy swallows and stumbles towards him._ _

__Feeling a little sick despite his smile, Theseus turns on his heel and marches off down the first corridor he sees._ _

__"Why did you do that?"_ _

__The voice is so quiet Theseus thinks he imagined it at first. When he recalls that when he thinks in American, it's in Percival's voice, he looks back in surprise. The boy is trailing in his wake, somehow managing to look soaked through even though he's bone dry, and in any other situation Theseus would postpone everything to go get him a sandwich. In fact, now that he's properly looking, he realises that 'boy' is hardly a fair description. He's slight, yes, but that looks more like undernourishment than anything else. He's still younger than Theseus but then more and more people are these days, it's rather disconcerting. There's that tug again, this time wanting to hug him for no other reason than he looks like nobody has in his life._ _

__The ... man is starting to look more uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other, as Theseus realises he’s staring. At least it's a change from distressed. "You're visiting someone in here?" He nods. "Someone important to you?" Hesitation, then another nod. "They shouldn't keep you out. I don't care what's going on, people are supposed to be better than that."_ _

__The man frowns, like he wants to object, but Theseus catches sight of another healer headed towards him and hastily starts walking again. He turns a corner, then another one, squinting at the scrawl on his hand of Picquery’s details and then various signs._ _

__"Are you going in circles?"_ _

__"Are you following me?" Theseus asks, ears burning a little. His fault for needing to keep moving. Maybe he should have taken that turn back there._ _

__He'd hoped to make the man smile, just a little. Maybe it's the way all of his face looks like it's trying to escape, but he reckons one smile would look stunning. He knows the type, after all. Unfortunately, this really isn't his day: the man immediately ducks his head and somehow loses both inches off his height and years off his age. "I didn't mean to – "_ _

__"I'm not serious," Theseus says, and allows himself a small snort on Percival's behalf. "It’s just a joke.”_ _

__Theseus can almost hear the gears turning in there. He wonders whether every word is being carefully considered or it's more like Percival or Newt, mind going a mile a minute. As much as he's half-asleep and determined to see a not-dead Percival before he closes his eyes, he does keep finding his eyes drawn to details: the uneven edge to the hideous haircut, fingers twitching like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, up toward his neck and then falling away. In the end, he apparently decides to let it go, and Theseus swallows his disappointment. And then his confusion over his disappointment._ _

__As ever when he doesn’t know what’s happening, he can hear his voice getting louder like he can somehow drown out the insanity in his head with the insanity that comes out of his mouth. "They should really get some signs around here – proper signs, the kind that _help_ , in some kind of actual order people can follow. Any kind of order, and I know I'll be in trouble for that, but seriously, is it that important to name somewhere after some pompous arse looking for praise rather than making sure people can actually find anywhere?" He pointed at a small, delicate sign nearby, aggravating in its smug obtuseness. "What does that even say? We’ve been past here five times and I swear that says something different every time! Are they worried about being raided? Is there a bloody confundus I don't know about?"_ _

__He looks back, breathing heavily, and the man flinches. "I ... don't know what that is?"_ _

__Well, that's ... odd. Clearly something must show on Theseus' face, because now the floor is the most fascinating thing in the world. Honestly, it’s typical of Theseus and for once in his life he’s ashamed of himself, the way his soulmate is so close and he just wants this man looking at him again. "Anyway," he says, trying to sound breezy, "my point is, where's Tennyson? No idea."_ _

__"Back there."_ _

__He looks up from his hand in surprise, to see a surprisingly slender finger pointing to a corridor several feet behind them. "How do you know?"_ _

__"I've been there before." Voice so quiet, and of course, Theseus keeps forgetting he's either kidnapped or commandeered another visitor. Probably has a suitably picturesque soulmate convalescing surrounded by lilies. Lilies would be good – or maybe something with a bit more colour, this man is really far too monochrome and it doesn't look like a style choice the way Percival makes it._ _

__Shaking his head to try to dismiss blurry thoughts of chrysanthemums or amaryllises, Theseus shifts awkwardly on his feet, looking with the vague sense that in another time he might have lingered. Instead he nods as his mind suddenly buzzes the thought of _Percival_ ,wrist twitching, and the moment passes, and he walks away._ _

__No wonder he couldn't find it: now he knows where to look, he can see the blurring in the air, the unmistakable haze of distraction and shields all bound up together. No doubt Picquery decided they weren't worth mentioning. He scoffs to himself, feeling until he can find the usual door left for those in the know. Inside, two people jump to their feet: one a man in the standard Magical Security uniform, the other a woman with short dark hair and eyes which look more confused by the second._ _

__Theseus sighs, reaching for his identification. It's been a while since anybody has asked to see it, but the door they're guarding is the only thing he can think about now, and charm is harder to reach for when he's just thinking about seeing Percival alive. "Head Auror Scamander. Picquery sent me." Slight lie but, again, he much prefers avoiding questions. The woman's eyebrows fly up but before she can speak, he asks, "Care to let me in?" as if he wouldn't fight both of them in an instant if they said no._ _

__Neither tries, so he pushes the door open and looks inside._ _

__All the air leaves him in an instant._ _

__Percival looks so bloody small – not in the way Theseus is always teasing him about, but like the bed is engulfing him. At least they've offered him something comfortable, so Theseus doesn't need to start transfiguring and plotting murders: something wide, mattress a decent thickness, covers relatively soft to the touch when Theseus runs a hand over them. Not Graves finery, perhaps, but it bears out Picquery's suggestion that they're at least giving Percival the benefit of the doubt. Bloody right too. Theseus just wants to carry him away from all this. Maybe he doesn't like America and Percival has far too many jokes about Britain, but those are hardly the only countries in the world._ _

__Percival's right arm is resting on top of the sheets. Petty and possessive as he is, Theseus' wandering fingers meet it, softly turning the wrist to see the names: _Theseus Scamander_ and _Credence Barebone_. Same as ever, save for the white scars streaking the skin. A constant reminder: Theseus let him down once already, and that's more than he ever wanted._ _

__A soft murmur and instantly he looks up, to see one of Percival's eyes open enough to squint at him. "Who the fuck let you in?"_ _

__"Technically I opened the door," Theseus says, smiling and he can't stop even though it must look a little manic._ _

__"You look like shit."_ _

__"And you don't look a day over ninety." More white hairs, black fading to grey. He’s always said Percival would have the fine hair of an elder before thirty and now he's starting to think he was only ten years out. He sits down with a weary sigh on the edge of the mattress, a whisper of coming home he can never put into words. Without meaning to, he finds himself reaching out, strands oddly soft without all that pomade. "Such a scandalous mess, whatever will people say?"_ _

__He expects some sharp comment or other, already readying a response, the constant back and forth they've always known together. Even when it was just letters, it wasn't hard to believe they were meant to know each other. That's why it takes him too long to realise there's no answer coming._ _

__Confused, he looks down to see Percival's eyes fixed at a point over his shoulder and his expression doesn’t fit anything Theseus can put a name to. A little surprised around the mouth, a little confused in the dip of his brow, but something else Theseus finds he can't name. Something he doesn't recognise._ _

__With a bit of a shiver – not fear, not exactly – he turns to follow that gaze and blinks._ _

__"Oh. Hello again."_ _

__The man from the corridor is standing there in the doorway, frozen. He looks just as surprised to see Theseus, and distantly Theseus thinks that the guards should have kept him out, really. He's confused but then he registers how tense Percival's gone next to him. He goes for his wand, but fingers close firm around his wrist. He tries to object but Percival shakes his head and won't answer Theseus' disbelief._ _

__"I'm sorry," the man mumbles, turning to go._ _

__Theseus wants to ask, just to reassure him, but impossibly Percival gets there first. "You don't have to go."_ _

__"I'm interrupting," the man insists, curling away._ _

__"You're not."_ _

__Theseus gets as far as "well" before hissing as that grip tightens just to the edge of painful. "What the shit, Perce?"_ _

__"It's fine," Percival mutters, then says it again, louder, "It's fine." Lower again, "I didn't know you knew each other."_ _

__That hardly seems important. "We met outside," Theseus says slowly, feeling the weight of all that missed sleep and all that draining adrenaline dropping suddenly down onto his shoulders. "He was having trouble getting inside. I just – " He looks back. "The shit is going on?"_ _

__"Nothing," the man says, sounding a little frantic now, and Theseus realises he's looking at where Percival is still clinging on to him. "I'll go."_ _

__"I said no – "_ _

__"I don't want – "_ _

__"Credence." Percival says firmly. "Close the door and come here."_ _

__No._ _

___No._ _ _

__Slowly Theseus turns his head, or maybe the world turns around him. Percival meets his eyes, steady in a way no convalescing man should be. The man - boy - whoever he is doesn't seem convinced but he still obeys, letting go of the door and stumbling towards the bed as if pulled by a string. Theseus watches him fall into a chair on the opposite side and retreat inwards, not looking at either of them, and doesn't think anything. He just watches._ _

__"Theseus?" Percival asks. Theseus says nothing. "Are you all right?"_ _

__Theseus bites at his lip, gently at first but getting harder, just at the point of drawing blood. "Am I asleep?" he asks. "Is that it? Am I still is Waczy-Vena-wherever the shit that place is? Am I going to wake up to a goat pissing on my face?" Percival is staring at him; even the man opposite forgets to be scared so he can raise his head, eyes wide. "Because I don't really know what's happening any more, and that would make much more sense than the utter _insanity_ that has been everything since then, and I just – " He breaks off, more because his breaths are suddenly too short to support sentences._ _

__"Perce?" he asks, his voice quiet even to his ears. "Is he actually here? I mean," he blinks to clear the blurs, "is he actually...?"_ _

__Percival looks a little lost too, staring at him as if one of his precious books had suddenly started singing Gershwin. Theseus' throat feels hoarse. When someone does speak, it's a voice he's only heard recently._ _

__"You're Theseus Scamander?"_ _

__He nods slowly; stares at the hand being held out across Percival without really comprehending what he's supposed to do with it. When he follows it back up, that worry and fear is still there, but something else too in that twitching face. Something that brings an answering flutter in his own chest._ _

__He reaches out and takes that hand. "So they tell me," he says, trying to smirk and probably failing. "Forgive my manners – ask Perce here, I'm basically a barbarian. What's your name?"_ _

__"Credence," Credence tells him. "Credence Barebone."_ _

__Theseus hears something hysterical leave him as he looks down at their joined hands. Credence's sleeves are long and he can't see the underside of his wrist, but somewhere under there, there's the answer – no, the _confirmation_ , because a thrill of something thrums through him, from Credence and down to Percival at his side. He doesn't know what his face is doing. He feels like he doesn't know anything._ _

__"You found him first,” he sighs._ _

__“You _bastard_.”_ _


End file.
